


Of Pie, Cookies, and Other Sweet Things

by BeautifulDelusions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awesome Charlie, Cafe! AU, Cas doesn't know Dean, Charlie Ships It, Chef Dean, Dean makes Cas sweets, F/F, Fluff, Gabriel Ships It, M/M, Note-passing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Pining Dean, Professor Castiel, Romance, Semi-Pining Castiel, Shy Dean, Slow Build, actually just about everyone ships it, as the story progresses, food images at the beginning of chapter seven, in his own way, including mythology of angels and demons, let's be real no mythology is safe, mythologyprofessor!cas, pastrychef!dean, rather gratuitous abuse of mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulDelusions/pseuds/BeautifulDelusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a pastry chef at Piegatory Café, and he may or may not have a crush on a regular customer who probably has no idea Dean even exists.  But that's okay because Dean doesn't know the guy's name or where the guy works or if the guy's single or even interested in other men, until Charlie's first day on the job.</p><p>Dr. Castiel Novak is a Mythology professor at the local college, and he's rather content with his lot in life and doesn't really think about dating.  Then he's suddenly being given pastries with his meals at his favorite café, and one evening it becomes apparent that one of his favorite students is talking about his lectures to a pastry chef, and said chef puts a note on the box containing his first significant pastry.  With nothing to lose, Castiel opts to play along.</p><p>And both men find themselves suddenly swept up in something they can't quite explain.</p><p>---</p><p>This is the fleshed-out, multi-chapter fic that wasn't really supposed to happen.  If you'd rather read the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1858251">OPCOST oneshot</a> and ignore this, you are welcome to do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any characters.
> 
> This originally was written as a simple, fluffy oneshot that had the lightest bit of angst and mostly-implied pining. In an effort to do that, I took out a lot of the plotty bits, which is how this came about. If you want the shortened version of this fic, go [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1858251). Currently, the ending of that fic is meant to be involved in this fic (which is expanding on that ending) so if you don't want it spoiled at all for you, you might want to leave it untouched.
> 
> This story is not beta-read, so any and all mistakes are my own. Tags will be updated as the characters are actually introduced into the story, as relationships (if any) develop, and as things occur that may need to be tagged. The rating is subject to go up _if_ I can write something that doesn't suck (because I'm not going to make you read poorly-written smut at the end of this).
> 
> As most stories are, this is third-person limited, but I'll try to have it written evenly between Dean's view and Cas's view (and maybe someone else like Charlie or Gabriel in one or two chapters if I see fit).
> 
> If you've read the oneshot, there will be sections that you'll know; some of them will have been altered a little, but it's not necessary for you to re-read them unless you really want. The first section has not been edited at all, but the second section was slightly altered. The rest of the chapter is completely new and somewhat plot-important.
> 
> **Warning** : There is some mentioned/implied homophobia in this chapter.
> 
> All right, then, I think that's it; here goes nothin'!

Dean wasn't entirely certain when his "crush" (as Sam liked to call it) had started.  He had never even spoken to him, and he was fairly certain that Blue-Eyed Trenchcoat guy, who was commonly referred to as BET guy for discretion purposes, had absolutely no clue who Dean was.  Oh, yeah, that's right; Dean had no clue what his name was, even though he'd been watching the guy for about a month.  It was a little sad, actually, all the things he knew just from observing him.

BET guy had some of the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, and he knew that even without ever being that close to the guy— _that's_ how blue this dude's eyes were.  He could tell when BET guy was running late not by the time he arrived (because he always showed up at the same time) but by the state of his hair.  It was almost always dry and perfect except for when it was still damp and curly, with one strand of hair defiantly curving out over the guy's forehead.  BET guy came in twice a day during the week—once in the morning and once in the evening—so Dean could tell the guy's day had been stressful if parts of the guy's hair were sticking up at odd angles.

Dean knew BET guy liked his coffee with hazelnut creamer and two cubes of sugar, and in the mornings he ordered an orange sugar Danish with said coffee.  In the evenings the guy usually just drank water and ate whatever their soup of the day might be.  Every now and then the guy would order a slice of pie, as well.  (That was how Dean knew the man had good taste since he chose pie out of all the pastries they offered.  Pie was obviously the most superior pastry.)

Sometimes BET guy would have someone with him, and Dean would get to see the guy squint and tilt his head if he was confused about something the other person said, or he'd get to see the guy give a full smile, not the bare quirking of lips that he offered to the cashiers who took his orders.  Rarely, he'd get to see the guy angry because of his companion, and his lips would press together as his brows drew forward.  And even more rarely he'd get to see the guy grin, all white teeth and gums.

BET guy also had little quirks that gave away how he was feeling.  If his fingers were tapping against his knee, he was a little bored.  If he was fiddling with the cuff of his trenchcoat, he was stressed.  If the tip of his tongue was poked out the side of his mouth, he was deep in thought.  If he rolled his right shoulder back in the midst of a conversation, he was nervous.

But even knowing all of those things, there was one major thing Dean didn't know, and it was that one thing that gave him pause.

He had no idea if the man was single, or if he was even interested in guys.  (He also didn't know what the man did for a living, but given he didn't know the guy's _name_ , that wasn't too pressing.)

But that changed when he convinced Benny Lafitte, the owner of Piegatory Café, to hire one of his LARPing friends.

 

* * *

 

Dean was in the midst of slicing freshly-made bagels when he caught sight of BET guy smiling one of his _real_ smiles at the new, red-haired cashier.  He couldn't hear what was being said over the sound of the bagel slicer, but whatever it was, the two seemed a little familiar with each other, and an unnatural hope built quickly inside him that he attempted to squash down because it really could end up being nothing.  His desire to know more about BET guy could be blinding him to what was just a normal conversation.  Hell, what if the guy was hitting on Charlie or something? 

That thought caused something sour to settle in his stomach, and Dean knew he wouldn't be able to wait until later to interrogate Charlie.  He needed to know _now_.  Figuring the bagels could wait a minute, he quickly made his way over to the two cashiers, plastering a smile on his face.  He lightly clapped the younger of the two on the shoulder.  "Hey, Samandriel, I'm stealing Charlie for a minute," he told the shorter, sandy-haired boy, and—without even waiting for confirmation that he'd heard—grabbed Charlie and led her into the kitchen.

Charlie went along willingly enough, with only a slight startled protest at being jerked around so easily.  He heard her sputter slightly, but she went quiet immediately when he turned to face her, his expression probably a bit more intense than it should be.  Her brown eyes widened in fear and probably a little confusion as she asked, "Am I already doing something wrong?"

Dean blinked, his brows furrowing for a second before he realized what the situation must feel like to her.  "What—no.  No, you're doing fine," he reassured her, offering her a short smile that probably missed its mark.  "I just, uh..."  He paused, stalling for a moment longer, and then the words rolled off his tongue, "Do you know that guy?"

Charlie looked even more confused than she had earlier, and he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she thought he was running a fever or something.  "Err...what guy?" she asked slowly.

"The guy whose order you just took," Dean answered with a hint of impatience, though he was trying his best to _not_ be a dick.  He had been rather vague, but really, how many guys could he be referencing?  That thought passed his lips unbidden, "What other guy would I be talking about?"  That was more of a normal remark he'd make, but even he knew that this was a far cry from normal.

Charlie was studying his reaction a bit too closely, as though she were trying to piece something together but couldn't quite find the one thing that would make it all click.  "Uh, yeah, that's Dr. Castiel Novak.  He teaches Mythology at the college.  I'm in his Tuesday/Thursday early evening class.  Why do you..."  Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened in realization as a smile broke out on her face; Dean cursed internally.  "He's BET guy!"

His hand instinctively clapped over her mouth, and he made a brief mental note to change his gloves out.  "Not so loud!" he hissed, glancing around furtively.  He really didn't need people to catch onto that moniker.  No one would let him live it down if they actually knew Dean had come up with a name for the regular patron.

Charlie rolled her eyes and shoved his hand away from her mouth so that she could ask bluntly and incredulously, "Why haven't you jumped him yet?"

Dean was fairly certain he was blushing to the tips of his ears, and he hated it.  Blushing was meant for grade-schoolers, not a thirty-year-old male.  He ducked his head a little and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck as he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor.  "I...  I don't know if he's single.  Or if he'd even be interested."  It was a weak excuse, and both parties knew it.  Hell, a toddler would know it.

The redhead snorted and crossed her arms.  "You have to have noticed the lack of a wedding band, and a simple, 'Are you dating anyone?' would work.  Never pegged you as a coward, Dean Winchester."  The words were stated as a challenge, and Dean bristled a little but refused to rise to the bait.

"I don't wanna make the guy awkward, though.  Like I said, I don't even know if he'd be interested," he repeated with a frown.

Charlie shook her head with a sigh.  "You seriously have one of the worst gaydars ever, Dean.  No wonder you need me as your wingman," she teased, her lips curling up into a smirk.  "I'm just about one-hundred percent positive he would be interested.  Now grow a pair and make a move."  And with that parting statement, she turned around and went back out front, leaving Dean chewing his lip in thought.

 

* * *

 

His phone was taunting him.  It was sitting there on his coffee table, lighting up with the random app notifications, and he didn't even know what half of them were for.  It was more irritating than anything; the notifications weren't exactly _useful_ or anything.  He didn't care if he hadn't played Candy Crush in however-many-days; the game was rigged, anyway.  And he'd given up on his kingdom ages ago, so it could be attacked by however many opposing allegiances.  In retrospect, it probably would be a lot easier to just delete the damn apps (especially Kingdoms of Middle Earth) and put himself out of his misery.  But there was always the little part of him that brought up the fucking "what if" situation because it was completely possible (and likely) that he would want to play them again someday, if he was just _that_ bored.

So he sat there and dealt with the obnoxious app notifications that he could _probably_ turn off if he took the effort to fiddle with his phone.

Okay, so they were only obnoxious on nights where he was itching to call his brother but was hesitant to do such, even if Sam had told him to call anytime.  The news he wanted to tell Sam, though, was something he preferred to discuss in person, so if he called Sam, it would be to ask him if he wanted to come over, and though he knew Sam would do it (assuming he had no other plans), Dean didn't want to do that because he was going to see his little brother _in two days_.

And that was what it all boiled down to in a nutshell.  Dean wanted to tell his brother about _Castiel_ , the fucking Mythology professor, but he should be able to wait _two damn days_.  It wasn't that big of a deal, but at the same time it definitely was, and it frightened him.

The opening guitar riff for "Wanted Dead Or Alive" by Bon Jovi suddenly blared from his now-vibrating phone, and Dean bit back a curse as he jumped.  His thumb swiped along the bottom of the screen as he picked it up, and he didn't even have to look at the caller.  Few people had their own ringtones on his phone (because that made it easier for him to decide if it was worth the effort to answer it), and this particular one had been meant as a joke originally but had wound up sticking.  "Heya, Sammy," he greeted as he put the phone to his ear.

Sam's put-out sigh rang in his ear.  "Are you ever gonna stop calling me that?"

Dean felt his lips tug into a grin.  "Not even after we're dead," he answered truthfully, and he could imagine his brother rolling his eyes.  "What's up?"

"You doing anything pressing at the moment?"  Sam's voice was a little hesitant but also hopeful.  It caused Dean's brows to furrow as he sat up straighter, ready to jump into action if something had happened.

"Nothing's ever too pressing that I can't drop it if needed.  Why?"  He hoped his words came out more nonchalant than he felt.

There was a huff of laughter on the other end of the line.  "Dean, I'm a lawyer, and I'm twenty-six years old.  You always sound like you're worried I'm in jail or something."

That was true, but Sam didn't have to point it out like it was totally ridiculous.  "What?  No, I don't," Dean retorted, and there was a distinct silence on the other end that said more than words ever could.  "Oh, shut up.  What do you want?"

There was another pause, this one definitely hesitant because he could practically hear Sam thinking.  "Some of the guys wanted to go to The Roadhouse tonight, and I lied and told them I already had plans with you."  Sam's words were a little rushed, like he knew he wouldn't get them out if he didn't say them quickly.  Dean felt his stomach drop; he had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it.  "They told me to just bring you with me."

Yep, there it was.  Dean swallowed back his initial response of "hell no"; the last time he'd spoken to their mutual group of "friends," it hadn't ended well.  The fallout that had occurred had been between Dean and the group, though, and not _all_ of them had insulted him, but they hadn't stood up for him, either.  It was obvious that Sam wanted to go, or he wouldn't have even brought it up, even if he had made an excuse not to go originally.  Dean knew it had only been for his sake because Sam didn't want to hang out with a bunch of guys who had been assholes to his older brother.  Pushing a hand through his hair, he released a sigh.  "D'you know who all's gonna be there?"

Sam's stammered response showcased his surprise.  "Um, yeah, I think it's just, uh... Henriksen, Garth, Adam, Chuck, and Ash because it's his night off."

Dean worried his lower lip between his teeth for just a second before nodding.  "All right.  What time?"

"Really?" Sam blurted, and Dean didn't even grace that with a response.  "Uh, in about ten minutes?"

Dean shook his head, a smile quirking his lips.  "See you soon, Sammy."

"Yeah, you, too," came Sam's reply, and Dean was fairly certain Sam had no clue what he'd said.

He hung up the phone, chuckling a little to himself before the weight of what he had just agreed to do settled on his shoulders.  He rubbed his hands over his face quickly, allowing himself to hate himself for agreeing to it.  Ash and Henriksen couldn't care less, and Chuck and Garth just kind of went with the flow, but Adam was a bit of a loose end; it could go either way with that kid, and he was more than a little concerned.  He hadn't talked to any of them (minus Ash) recently, so their reunion had the distinct possibility of going very sour, very quickly.

But he could worry about that when he got to The Roadhouse.  He'd already changed into a pair of jeans and one of his many plaid, flannel shirts, so all he had to do was pick up his keys and brown leather jacket, and he was out the door without a second thought.

 

* * *

 

Thankfully, when Dean got to The Roadhouse, Sam was already there, which meant the "reunion" wouldn't be as awkward or as bad as it could be.

A little unsurprisingly, Garth was the one who saw him first.  The tall and thin dark-haired, pale-skinned man looked as though he were in mid-sentence when his blue eyes lit on Dean, and then a grin split his face, and he was suddenly struggling to push himself out of the booth.  Dean quickened his pace so that he would reach them before Garth decided it was a good idea to run across the restaurant.

"Dean!" Garth exclaimed, his accent a little strong.  "Where ya been, ya idjit?  It's so good to see you!"

Dean opened his mouth to answer (and make a jab about how Garth _really_ needed to stop talking like Bobby) when he was suddenly rendered incapable of speaking as Garth threw his arms around him in a hug.  He went a little rigid because this was _not_ the greeting he'd expected, no matter how accepting Garth was of just about everything.  "Uh, hey, Garth, good to see you, too," he answered, shooting the other five males a "help me" glance.  None of them seemed willing to jump to help, though, so he brought up one arm and clapped Garth's back twice above his shoulder blades.  Garth released him then, thankfully, and he muttered, "I see you're still picking up on Bobby's phrasing."

That earned him a table of chuckles, and there was some adjustment of seating arrangements so that Dean could sit next to Sam, which meant he was directly across the table from Garth, who was a rather close family friend.  His full name was kinda crazy—Garth Fitzgerald IV.  He was really good friends with Bobby Singer, who was practically Dean and Sam's uncle or step-in father, if need be.  Garth was a little strange, but his friendly personality was quite helpful for him since he was a dentist.  He was really good with kids, and even better with parents somehow, and they all respected him for it. 

Next to Garth was Ash, a tanned brunette with a mullet haircut and blue eyes, and he was quite possibly the smartest man Dean knew.  He was crazy and probably drunk or high more often than not, but he was a genius.  He was a waiter-slash-bartender-slash-whatever-technological-thing-you-need-done-doer, and he seemed to enjoy his life, so Dean didn't judge him for his eccentricities.

Beside Ash sat Chuck Shurley, a pale-skinned man with dark, curly hair, a well-kept beard and mustache, and blue eyes.  He was actually a rather famous writer (and was also drunk rather often).  His novels were about two brothers who hunted supernatural beings, and he'd asked permission to use Sam's and Dean's names and their brotherly dynamic.  It had taken them a while to agree to it because, really, it required Chuck to be a bit invasive, but they'd eventually let it slide because it wasn't going to do them too much harm since the only people who might put two and two together were people in their hometown.

Then there was Victor Henriksen, an African-American man with closely-shaven hair, a clean-cut beard and mustache, and eyes so dark brown they almost looked black.  He was a cop, and he'd been dragged into their circle of friends in a rather odd way.  The guy had always given Dean a rough time—especially when Dean found himself in a bit of a bind during his high school years, causing him to turn to things he really shouldn't have—but he'd ended up being an all right guy and had directed Dean to Benny.  And one day, on a whim, Dean had asked if Henriksen wanted to grab a couple beers with him and some of his friends, and Henriksen had actually showed.

And finally, there was Adam Milligan, who was definitely the youngest of their bunch at age eighteen, soon-to-be nineteen.  He had short, sandy-brown hair and blue eyes, and his skin was tanned.  He was Sam and Dean's half-brother they had literally met only a year ago, by pure happenstance.  Their father (who was the common parent they shared) had kept Adam a secret even when he'd died two years prior to them meeting the kid, and only then it had been because his mother, Kate Milligan, had asked to see their father, and Adam had gotten in touch with them to arrange a meeting.  It hadn't been a pretty affair, but it had worked out well enough.

Jo—a curly-haired blonde girl with brown eyes who was also a close family friend and the daughter of the owner of The Roadhouse, Ellen Harvelle—came by the table to drop off a bottle of beer for Dean and to give a quick glare to the other men at the table before asking if they needed anything.  After she walked away, there was an awkward lull of silence over the group, and Dean chanced a glance at his little brother (who was in fact freakishly taller than Dean) to find said male pushing a hand through his long brown hair in an act of nervousness.  Sam's hazel eyes shifted to meet Dean's, and the expression on the younger man's face was almost apologetic.

"So," Dean interjected into the silence, "how have you guys been?"

There were a few murmurs of "good" and "same old" (and of course Garth's "great!") which was better than not getting a response at all.  To distract himself from the awkwardness he knew his presence was causing, Dean popped the cap off his bear and took a swig.

Then Henriksen cleared his throat, and Dean's gaze snapped to the agent.  "You never answered my calls, Winchester," he stated bluntly, cutting right to the chase.  "I've called once a week for the past few months, and not once did you pick up the phone or return a call."

Dean absently scratched at the label on the bottle.  "You know where I work during the week," he muttered, his gaze shifting from Henriksen and to the beer bottle.  "And most weekends I work here."

Henriksen laughed a little bitterly.  "You don't get it, do you?  I'm not going to force you to see me if you don't want to see me, but I think I deserve at least a 'fuck off' through the phone if you really don't want me to call."  There was a slight pause before he added, "And I'm not stupid, Winchester.  I'm good at my job because I can read people.  You think I didn't notice when you checked a guy out or became oddly flustered in front of a guy you thought was attractive?"

That caused Dean's fingers to still on the beer bottle, and he slowly raised his eyes back to Henriksen.  "I'm not stupid, either.  I knew you knew, and I knew you didn't care, but you sure as hell weren't backing me when you just sat there while Gordon made a huge scene, and his stupid geezer friend tried to tell me I could get _help_ for my _problem_ ," Dean rejoined gruffly.

"Yeah, I messed up.  I'm not gonna lie.  And standing idly by is something I will probably regret for the rest of my life," Henriksen stated bluntly, trying to keep his voice even.  "If I thought it would help, I would apologize every day until the day I died.  But those words would mean _nothing_ to you, and all of us know it.  So what would you have me do?  I gave you your space, and I let you bitch and wallow in self-pity.  Yes, I could have cornered you and caused a scene, but I didn't because it wasn't my place to _make_ you talk to me.  But you came here tonight of your own choosing, Winchester, and I've let you be angry at me, and it's time for you to at least try to let me—let us _all_ —back in your life.  We're your friends; hell, I'd even go so far as to say we're kinda like family.  Give us a second chance to prove we're not ignorant assholes.  Let us try to make it up to you."

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to make his anger mellow out.  Henriksen did have a point, and if he were honest, he missed all the guys sitting at the table.  They were all a part of his rag-tag family.

"That's why we're here," Chuck added quickly, and Dean flicked a glance at him in recognition of his words.

Adam suddenly spoke up, surprising him.  "Dean, last year you and I butted heads a lot.  You kept trying to push the whole 'we're family' bullshit on me, and I hated it."  The kid chuckled and shook his head.  "And then, when we'd finally gotten into the swing of it, it wasn't long before this shit happened.  I think you owe me this much, since I did the same for you.  Just attempt to let us work this out."

"Dude, no one at this table cares who you fuck or who fucks you, if that's your preference," Ash commented crudely, but it didn't anger Dean so much as amuse him.

"We're not sayin' you have to give all the other idjits the time of day, but will you at least consider us?" Garth queried, smiling a little sadly.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with a free hand.  This was all a little ridiculous.

"Come on, Dean, they're sincere.  They've been bitching at me for weeks to try and get you to agree to this," Sam appealed.

Dean dropped his hand and sent his younger brother a glare.  "You were in on this?"  Sam simply shrugged, unrepentant, and Dean nearly rolled his eyes.  He glanced at each of the five other men in turn, landing on Garth's pitiful expression last.  "Ugh, okay, fine.  Just stop looking at me like that, Garth.  It's creepy."  As the atmosphere at the table almost instantly lightened as Garth's expression only grew more pitiful and caused the other guys to laugh, Dean elbowed Sam in the ribs.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam hissed, doing his bitch face.

"You know what." Dean glanced at the male with a slight smirk as he muttered, "Bitch."

Sam's lips formed a smirk as well as he lightly shoved his brother with his shoulder and quipped, "Jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Sam's ringtone "Wanted Dead or Alive" because he and Dean sing it in season three (and it gives me feels), and I didn't want to use "Smoke on the Water" since that will probably be Dean's generic ringtone choice.
> 
> In the effort to make the chapters roughly the same, decent length and not _too_ long (aiming for between 4k and 6k each chapter), it's possible there will be cutoff points that will continue in the next chapter. This was a good enough point as any to stop for this one, but rest assured: the next chapter is still with Dean, so Sam will be hearing about Cas before he leaves. (;
> 
> My plans are to post new chapters whenever I finish them; if I try to update once or twice a week on set days, it'll end up being a mess because my sleep schedule is skewed. I _think_ you should expect the next chapter by Tuesday, at the latest. Depending on what I choose to do in the next chapter, it could be sooner.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Tuesday where I live, so I made it! It took longer than I'd expected, and it didn't turn out quite like I wanted it to since there wasn't a way for me to keep the chapters in separate views if I cut this chapter short.
> 
> The first... eh, three-fourths of the chapter are completely new. The last part is a semi-revamped version of a scene from the oneshot, so if you've read that, it isn't too much of a significant change. I like it better this way, though. (;
> 
> Once again, this is not beta-read, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Pretty sure there's nothing to warn against in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

Several hours later, two members of their party were entirely sober, another two were slightly buzzed, and yet another two were a little past tipsy.  Only one of them was drunk, but it was enough to make them laugh and create a little bit of a ruckus like normal.  It was when Garth had stumbled over to someone and tried to engage him in conversation that was mostly full of Garth giggling and making stupid comments that Ellen stepped in.

"All right, boys, you get him out of here right now," the brunette woman with honey-colored highlights ordered.  Her brown eyes shifted between Sam, Dean, and Chuck as she added, "And none of you drive just yet.  You can stick around a little longer, but Mr. I-Get-Drunk-Off-One-Beer has got to go."

Henriksen chuckled.  "Don't worry, Ellen, I'll get Garth home safely.  Move your ass, Ash, so I can get him before he does something illegal."  Ash slid out of the booth as quickly as he could, Chuck following suit without even having to be told.  "I'll see you boys later.  You better answer my damn phone calls now, Winchester."  He pointed a finger at Dean threateningly.

"Sir, yes, sir," Dean replied smoothly, saluting him mockingly.  Henriksen shook his head, and with one last parting wave, he quickly made his way to Garth.

"I'm glad to see you boys hangin' out like this," Ellen commented, her lips quirking into a smile as she looked directly at Dean.  "You 'specially.  You've been mopin' around for months.  I thought I was gonna have to smack some sense into you."

Dean knew she meant literally; she'd slapped the back of his head several times during his life, and he tried to avoid it because that shit hurt.  "I haven't been moping," Dean grumbled.

Sam snorted next to him.  "Yeah, Dean, you have," he retorted.  "I don't think you've been outside your apartment except to go to work and to eat with me the one night a week I manage to drag you out."

"That's not true!" Dean denied.

"Name one place you've been in the last week that isn't here or the café," Sam challenged.  "And Biggerson's doesn't count since that's where I made you go."

It took Dean a moment, but he did come up with something.  "The grocery store," he answered smugly.

"Boy, the grocery store ain't a place you go to hang out!" Ellen snapped.

Dean ducked to avoid a slap, just in case.  "And—and LARPing.  I do that every third Saturday," he quickly added.

Adam and Chuck both dissolved into laughter.  "Dude, you still do that?" Adam queried, genuinely surprised and amused.

Dean felt his face flush slightly as he grunted, "Yeah."

"Everyone has their guilty pleasure," Ash remarked, coming to Dean's defense.  "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Sam cleared his throat.  "I will admit I had fun the two times I went."

Dean sat up a little straighter, almost preening.  "See, you two don't know what you're missin'."

Ellen chuckled, shaking her head.  "I'll accept that, but you boys should start your once-a-week thing again.  It'll do all y'all some good."  She lightly slapped her hand against the table.  "See you boys around.  Dean, don't forget you help open tomorrow."

Damn it, he'd forgotten.  "Thanks, Ellen.  Night!"  She waved her hand over her shoulder as she walked away.  "Shit," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.  He wasn't drunk, so he wouldn't be hung over, but he had been hoping to sleep past noon tomorrow.

"You wanna call it a night?" Sam asked, nudging him lightly.

"Uh, yeah, that's probably best," Dean agreed, nodding.  "Adam, you staying a little longer?"

The sandy-haired boy nodded.  "Since Ellen won't let me drink in public, I drove Chuck, so I'll be here 'til he's ready to go or Ellen kicks him out."

Sam chuckled and clapped a hand on Adam's shoulder.  "Be careful, then.  It's a Friday night, and we are in a college town."

Adam rolled his eyes as he muttered, "Yeah, I know.  I go to that college."

Ash and Chuck both laughed, while Dean attempted to hide his laughter as he slid out of the booth.  "All right, I'm headin' out," he announced as he fished out his wallet and threw a couple of bills on the table.

Sam followed suit, sighing, "Me, too."

"Later, mis compadres," Ash farewelled.

"Oh, hey, Dean, my birthday is in a few weeks, and I expect your sorry ass to be free," Adam warned.  "Don't make us hunt you down because we will."

"He'll be there," Chuck stated solemnly with a nod.  "I had a dream about it, just like I had a dream about this."

Sam sputtered out a laugh of, "What?"

Dean furrowed his brows, shaking his head.  "Dude, don't say it so casually.  I'd much prefer I _didn't_ star in your dreams.  That's just weird."

Chuck shrugged, tossing back the last bit of a drink.  "You get used to it after a while, and it's pretty neat the random times it's actually been helpful."

"Yeah, man, whatever.  See you around," Dean replied, giving a little wave.  He couldn't resist teasing them with, "Maybe you guys could come LARP with me sometime."

"Maybe, but no promises," Adam agreed.

Dean grinned before turning and walking away.

"Night, guys," he heard Sam call, and a couple minutes later, both brothers were in the parking lot.  They didn't separate to go to their cars, and Sam finally broke the silence.  "Okay, Dean, you've been wanting to tell me something all night, so what is it?"

The name was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "Castiel."

Sam blinked before his expression screwed up in confusion.  "What?"

Dean sucked in a breath, shoving his hands in his pockets.  "BET guy's real name is Castiel Novak.  He's a Mythology professor at the college."

"Dean, that's great!  Did you—"

"Charlie is in one of his classes," Dean interrupted.

Sam was quiet as he mulled that over, and he was irritated when it sunk in.  "You _still_ haven't talked to him?  Dean, this is getting ridiculous!"

"I know!" Dean exclaimed in a burst of anger directed at himself.  Pushing a hand through his hair, he made a huffing noise, and when he spoke again, it was softer.  "Okay?  I know."  He paused, swallowing hard.  "It's just... difficult to think this guy could like someone like me, y'know?"

"Dean," Sam sighed, his tone a little exasperated.

"Don't, Sammy.  We both know I have enough baggage for about ten people," Dean murmured, chuckling bitterly.

"And who's to say that this guy doesn't have his own baggage, Dean?!  That's why you date people:  to find this stuff out!  It's not rocket science!"

Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling back.  He didn't know why they were having this argument at all, let alone in the middle of a parking lot.  Shifting his gaze to the ground, he kicked at a rock, watching it bounce across the pavement and underneath a car.

"Look, maybe that was a little uncalled for," Sam admitted quietly, and Dean glanced at him briefly to see him pushing a hand through his hair.  "But I really hate when you talk like that.  Sure, you had some problems in your past, and they've made a mark.  If someone's going to let that sort of thing break a relationship, they aren't good enough for you, anyway.  You seriously take on way too much, man.  Not everything that goes wrong is your fault.  I just wish you could see that."

This wasn't something Dean wanted to discuss, like, ever.  But it was a better note to part on than yelled words.  Flashing his younger brother a cheeky grin, he replied, "You're just saying that 'cause I'm your idol."

Sam scoffed and shook his head.  "Yeah, right.  I'm not ten anymore, Dean," he teased back.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his keys from his pocket and fiddled with them.  "Drive safe, Sammy."

Sam smiled and nodded.  "You, too, Dean.  See you on Sunday, right?"

"I'll be there," Dean assured him.

They shared a brief hug before parting ways to head to their respective cars.  Dean had just unlocked his door and started to open it when he heard Sam's voice call, "Hey, Dean!"

Dean looked over the roof of his car to see Sam some car-lengths away.  "Yeah?"

"At least talk to the guy!"

Dean rolled his eyes, refusing to even respond verbally to that, and he simply proceeded to get into his black Chevy Impala, determined to put his and Sam's little argument out of his head.

 

* * *

 

"So, what's the news on BET guy?" Jo asked without preamble, propping her arms up on the bar.  Her shift didn't start for another hour, and Ellen had left to get something-or-other at the store, which left Dean working at the bar.  Thankfully, it wasn't as crowded as it usually was on a Saturday afternoon, or Dean probably would have sprayed water at the nosy blonde.

After glancing down the bar to see if any of the patrons seemed to be flagging him down, the brunette turned his attention back to Jo and sighed.  "How do you always _know_?"

Jo smirked, tilting her head.  "It's a gift.  Now spill."

"Not much to spill," Dean responded truthfully.  "Charlie's apparently in one of his Mythology classes, and his name is Castiel Novak."

Jo's brows raised slightly.  "Oohhh," she drawled.  "A _Mythology_ professor, huh?  Does he look like one?"

"How does one _look_ like a Mythology professor, Jo?" Dean questioned, his lips curling into a smirk when she threw him an exasperated glare.  "Why don't you come by the café one morning or evening and find out yourself?"

Her eyes widened a little, and Dean felt a bit uneasy at how shocked she was at his suggestion.  He turned to do a cursory glance down the bar and was glad to see a man at the end looked low on his beer.  He took off to check on it, and he wasn't able to return to Jo for a few minutes.  After a quick exchange of words to reassure one of the patrons he wasn't hitting on Jo—because, really, he was _seriously_ afraid of Ellen and any man who wasn't was an idiot—he came to stand in front of her, leaning against the bar again.

"I can't believe it," Jo whispered.  "You're serious about this.  About Castiel.  And you don't even know the guy."

Dean felt his face flush, and he grunted quietly.  "I'm not _serious_ about him, Jo, Christ."  And he _wasn't_.  The guy was just a little fascinating and undeniably hot.

"Dean, you just gave me permission to come to the café and see him.  You _never_ want me at the café.  _Ever_."

She did have a point there.  He hated any of his surrogate family coming there, unless it was necessary or unavoidable.  "It doesn't mean anything special, Jo," Dean sighed exasperatedly.  "But you're obviously curious, and I don't have the abilities to tell you every little detail, nor am I going to take a picture of him because that is borderline stalker shit."

Jo held up her hands in surrender.  "Okay, okay.  I guess I'm just really surprised.  This is the first person you've talked about wanting to date for the sake of _dating_ and not sex in... I don't know how many years."

Dean shrugged one shoulder.  "He doesn't really seem like the one-night-stand type of guy."  Which was totally _not_ the reason he was thinking about dating Castiel, but he needed to attempt to keep up some pretenses.  There was just something oddly intense about the man that drew Dean in.  He couldn't quite explain it.

Jo was silent for a moment before she nodded decisively.  "I'll make a deal with you.  If, two weeks from now, you've asked this guy on a date, then I won't come to Piegatory Café to snoop.  If you _haven't_ , I'm going to come there without even telling you when, _and_ I'll have a conversation with him."  He went rigid, and she smirked at him, then winked.  "Choose wisely."  And with that, she sauntered away, leaving Dean cursing her beneath his breath.

 

* * *

 

Sunday found him at The Roadhouse yet again, about an hour or two before his shift ended.  He had just finished bussing one of his tables and dropping the dishes off next to the washer, and when he re-emerged from the kitchen, he was vaguely aware that someone had already been seated at his table, which prompted him to groan in frustration.  Couldn't Jo give him a _slight_ break?  He knew it was busy, but damn.

With a huffed sigh, Dean started to make his way over to the table.  It was at that moment he caught sight of a man wearing a blue ball cap, and his green eyes met Dean's.  The man's lips curled into a smile, surrounded by a brown and grey beard and mustache, and Dean found himself quickly walking towards the man.

"Bobby!" he exclaimed in greeting, throwing his arms around the older man and squeezing tightly.  "Damn, it's good to see you."  He released Bobby and took a step back, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.  "What're you doin' here?"

"Rufus and I finished some business in time and decided to come down here.  Jo gave us one o' your tables," Bobby answered, gesturing to the table where the African-American man (with short black hair, a black mustache, and a gray soul patch) was seated, watching them with a raised eyebrow. 

Dean raised a hand and waved slightly before clapping Bobby on the shoulder.  "Go ahead and sit down.  I'll grab you guys some beer."  He took a quick detour by the bar and nabbed two PBR's before heading over to the table where the two men were seated.  He deposited one in front of each man with a smile.  "Hey, Rufus.  It's been a while."

"Yeah," Rufus agreed, popping the lid off his beer.  "I know you've got time to drive thirty minutes."

Dean's brow furrowed.  "Vermont's a little further away than thirty minutes."

Rufus nodded.  "That it is."

"Rufus is stayin' with me for right now.  Some shit went down in Canaan," Bobby explained with a shrug.  Dean glanced at him with raised brows but didn't make a remark about it.  Rufus was a wily son of a bitch, and there was literally no telling what the man had gotten mixed up in.  Dean was almost sure the guy was CIA or something.

"How long's that arrangement been in place?" Dean ventured to ask after a moment of hesitation.

Bobby's reply was somewhat pointed.  "Oh, not long; 'bout a month."

Dean winced and nodded, swallowing thickly.  "Oh."  He didn't try to make any excuses because he knew it would just end badly.  "I'll try to make more of an effort to come up there."

Rufus's teeth flashed in a rather unfriendly grin.  "That's a good idea."

"So."  Dean cleared his throat.  "You want any appetizers?"

 

* * *

 

It was near the end of Dean's shift that it happened.  Rufus and Bobby were finishing up their desserts, and he had just grabbed them two more beers and set them down on the table.

"Well, if it isn't Bobby Singer!" Ellen's voice exclaimed almost directly behind him, causing him to jump slightly.

"Ellen!" Bobby responded in kind, grinning.

Dean stepped slightly to the side as Ellen moved past him, coming to lean against the side of the booth Bobby was sitting on.  He exchanged a glance with Rufus before looking back at the other two.

"What have you been up to?  It's been nearly a year since I saw you in here."  Ellen's voice was borderline scolding, and Dean could have sworn he detected a slight hint of playfulness.

His eyes widened when he realized just what he was witnessing.  "Holy shit," he breathed, looking over at Rufus, who took in his surprise and simply nodded.  Dean bent his head down to hiss, "She doesn't flirt with anyone!"

Rufus smirked, shrugging a shoulder.  "Neither does Bobby," he answered quietly.

Dean jerked back and looked at them again, confirming that Rufus was correct.  But they both seemed to be acting like nothing was abnormal, and they didn't do any of the awkward touching things that people seemed to do while flirting, either.  He'd be lying if he said that he couldn't imagine the two possibly dating, but he'd also be lying if he said that he wouldn't be bothered by it at least a little.  It was definitely something that would take some getting used to.

Glancing at the clock behind the bar, Dean made an impulsive decision.  "Uh, Ellen?"

The brunette woman actually stopped talking and turned to look at him, which was even more surprising.  There was no way he and Rufus were just imagining Ellen and Bobby flirting.  "Yeah, Dean?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to be meeting Sam for dinner soon—"

Ellen cut him off before he even had the chance to say anything else.  "Oh, go ahead, hon.  I can take care of these two.  Not much left, anyway."

"Yeah, uh, thanks, Ellen."  Dean was proud of himself for being able to get that much out.  He looked at Rufus and then Bobby in turn.  "I'll try to make a plan to come up there next week or something; maybe I can work it out to bring Sam along."

Rufus nodded.  "Make sure you call."

"It's been good seein' ya, boy," Bobby spoke sincerely, smiling.  "Take care of yourself, y'hear?"

Dean smiled back and nodded.  "Yes, sir.  It was good to see you, too."  With one final clap on both Bobby's and Rufus's shoulders, Dean turned to go into the back and change out of his work clothes.  He found himself chuckling as he realized Bobby and Rufus were probably gonna be there a lot longer than they had originally planned.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it took Dean nearly two weeks to make a move, and even then it wasn't the type of move Charlie or Sam had been talking about, and it definitely did not count for Jo's deal.

He was lingering out front on a Thursday evening, his back to the people ordering as he restocked the bags and containers behind the counter.  He heard Castiel—damn, it felt _so nice_ being able to call him something other than BET guy—ordering his soup of the day, and then it went downhill.

"And I'd like a slice of pie, preferably cherry."

The cashier—Samandriel, Dean placed the voice—replied, "Sorry, sir, but we're out of pie."

"You won't be making more?" the gravelly voice inquired, sounding a little incredulous and possibly a bit forlorn.

"No, sir," Samandriel replied.  "We do have other pastries, if you'd like any of those."

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Castiel frown in displeasure and shake his head.  "No, thank you," he declined politely, offering a small smile as he handed Samandriel the money for his soup.

Dean chewed on his lower lip, turning back to the items he was stocking.  Unfortunately, it was true that they wouldn't make more pies.  Since they didn't get many evening customers, if the pie ran out any time after five or six, it would be a waste of money because most people chose the other pastries they had to offer.  Dean hated it, but it was Benny's call.

Castiel had obviously been looking forward to the pie, though, if his displeasure was so apparent.  It made something twist inside of Dean, and he fought against the urge to fix it because he _knew_ Castiel's face would probably light up like a kid on Christmas morning.  Dean shook his head against the image, making an effort to steel his resolve since there was _no way_ Benny would let him do this, and it'd come out of his paycheck, which he _needed_ or he wouldn't work from open to close—

_"You won't be making more?"_

_Fucking hell._

With a noise of defeat, Dean walked back into the kitchen before heading to the back right corner where Benny's office was located.  He was a little surprised when the man wasn't in there, but it didn't deter him from his mission.  Grabbing a pen and a sheet of paper, he scrawled out, _"Making a cherry pie.  Take it out of my paycheck."_  It was enough for Benny to know that it likely wouldn't make them any bit of money.  Placing the sheet of paper on a stack of checks (since he knew Benny would see it), Dean promptly returned to the kitchen and started making a cherry pie.  He had to time it just right, or Castiel would leave before he could slice it.  He worked quickly but efficiently and had it in the oven in record time. 

Feeling a little antsy, Dean periodically checked on Castiel while continuing to assist in making sandwiches and checking on the pastries upfront, figuring out what could be salvaged for the next day and what would need to be either given away or thrown away that evening.  Sometimes he wondered how he got away with doing the most random jobs when he wasn't making the pastries and desserts, but Benny never complained about it, and the other workers seemed perfectly content to let him do what he pleased, which could either be because Benny had told them to keep their mouths shut _or_ because Dean was almost always working. 

About forty-five minutes after putting it in the oven, the pie looked (and smelled) done.  Dean was extremely nervous and praying fervently that Castiel would stay for about ten more minutes as he pulled the pie from the oven.

And that was precisely when Benny found him.

"I hope you're willing to take that out of your paycheck, brother," the man drawled, and Dean nearly dropped the pie.

With a shaky breath, he set it down on the counter and looked over his shoulder at the sandy-haired man with a slight smile.  "I actually left a note on your desk already telling you I was making a cherry pie."

Benny studied him for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing just a little, before he asked, "Mind explainin'?"

Dean almost told him that yes, he did mind, but he stopped himself before he did, and it wasn't because sassing his boss was a bad idea.  He and Benny were pretty close; the guy had helped Dean through a rather rough time when he was younger, and he had been nothing but helpful ever since.  "One of the regular customers wanted a slice of pie, and we were out, so I thought I'd make one," Dean answered truthfully.

Benny mulled that over, nodding thoughtfully.  "So you decided to make an entire pie because one customer wanted a piece?"

Dean swallowed before answering hesitantly, "Yes."

Benny suddenly smirked and quirked a brow. "BET guy?"

Dean felt his eyes widen, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before looking away from Benny and to the pie.  He could feel his ears burning with how hard he was blushing.  "His name is Castiel," he finally murmured.

Benny chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.  "Good luck, brother."  Dean nodded his thanks because he honestly couldn't get a single word out, and he watched the older man walk away before he returned his gaze to the pie in front of him.

"Dean."

Dean blinked and looked up to see that Benny had backtracked a little and was only standing a few steps away.  "Uh...yeah?"

"The pie won't come out of your paycheck."  With a grin and a wink, Benny turned back around and continued toward the back, most likely heading for his office.

Feeling a little better and thinking that maybe his luck was rising, Dean walked back out front and checked to make sure Castiel was still there.  Upon finding the guy in the trenchcoat still seated and tapping a pen against a paper, the knots in Dean's stomach loosened.  That was good.  But as the minutes slowly ticked by, he realized he wasn't quite ready to take the pie to Castiel while he was sitting there, and he found himself retreating into the kitchen so he could have his meltdown a little more privately.  Maybe he should have thought this through a little better, because, really what could he possibly say?  "Oh, I heard you wanted pie, and we don't usually make them when we run out, but I decided to make one anyway"?  Yeah, _that_ wouldn't be weird.

Before he could sulk about how his plan was going to go to waste, a blessing appeared out of nowhere in the form of Charlie.  He grinned widely when he saw her walk into the kitchen, and he quickly darted forward.  "Charlie, I need you to do something for me," he rushed out, not even giving her a proper greeting.

Charlie laughed softly before retorting, "Great to see you, too, Dean.  My day was fantastic, thank you.  I aced my Mythology paper.  Hermione would be proud."

Dean paused for a second, almost willing to congratulate her, but then he decided he didn't really like her tone, and he glared at her.  "Cut the sass.  I need you to take a piece of pie to Castiel."

It took Charlie a second to put it together—her eyes shifted off of him for a moment as her mind made the connections—and then she retorted, "No!  Take it yourself!"

"Oh, come on!" he groaned.  "He knows you, so it wouldn't be weird.  You could make up an excuse for why we have pie when we shouldn't!  I can't."  He looked down at her with just a hint of pleading on his face.  " _Please_?"

Charlie sighed heavily before holding her hands up.  "Okay, I'll do it.  But in return I get to choose your LARPing outfit this Saturday," she muttered.

Dean gave into the moment and hugged her quickly before releasing her and turning to make his way back to the pie.  He cut a slice as fast as he could and grabbed one of the clear, plastic containers they sometimes put them in when someone asked for a slice to go.  (Depending on the person packaging the item, it could either be the clear container or the red and brown one, but since he needed Castiel to know the item was pie, he chose the clear one.)  A moment later, the container was closed and being pushed into Charlie's hands.

"And what, exactly, am I supposed to tell him?" Charlie queried, cocking a brow.

"How should I know?" he shot back.  "Just walk up to him and figure it out.  Maybe he'll bring it up."

The redhead faltered a little, her posture stiffening as she made a slight grimace before turning around and exiting the kitchen.  It was only after she'd left that Dean recalled she was an awful liar.

Oh, yeah, this was going to go _swimmingly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always kind of liked the Bobby/Ellen pairing, so I'm thinking of having it occur in this story. The flirting _could_ lead to nothing, though, if there are any strong objections to it, so let me know? (;
> 
> Next chapter will be Castiel's view, and it'll be going back just a little bit. Depending on how much I think up for it, chapter four might start where this one ended (and will also be in Cas's view). I actually have a calendar laid out for this story to suit my needs for which dates fall on what weekday, so if anyone's interested in knowing what date/day it is in the story, don't hesitate to ask! I can go back and edit my end notes with the information, if you're curious.
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter out by Friday or Saturday, but it's the week of the 4th of July, so that could fall through.
> 
> Thanks for reading! As per usual, any feedback is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things took a little longer, but I'm a little excited about how this chapter turned out! (:
> 
> Like I said in the prior chapter, this chapter goes back in time a little bit. Six weeks, exactly, and every bit of it is _new_ material! I almost wrote out Gabriel and Cas's outing, but then this would have been split in two chapters, and I just didn't have it in me to write it, so it got a summary.
> 
> There's quite a bit of description in this chapter, so be prepared for that. As usual, it's not beta-read. 
> 
> I can't think of any warnings to address, so I'll shut up. Happy reading (I hope)!

_Six Weeks Prior_

With a quiet grunt of exhaustion, Castiel Novak collapsed onto the black leather couch in his living room and threw his arm over his eyes.  He had started moving into the apartment five days ago, and it had never occurred to him just how much stuff he had until he'd had to drag boxes upon boxes upon boxes into the place and _then_ unpack them.  He had stopped unpacking for a couple days, only to wake up that morning and decide he was going to finish putting away the last half of his boxes.

In retrospect it had been an _atrocious_ idea.

A loud noise emitted from his stomach, and he felt it vibrate from the force of the growl.  He released a groan in protest, unwilling to move from his spot on the couch even though he knew he needed to eat something; he hadn't eaten all day and had barely drank any water.  A heavy sigh passed through his lips, and he forced himself to sit up, unwilling to deal with the dizzy spell that would come from standing. 

Gently rubbing at his eyes, he glanced around the living room, pleased at the outcome of it.  Directly in front of him was a coffee table with an ebony-colored wood base (he believed Anna had called it wenge oak) supporting the glass top with a thin, silver metal piece in the shape of a rectangle on either end.  Two matching end tables framed his couch, and a black leather loveseat sat perpendicular to the end table on the left while a black leather armchair sat perpendicular to the end table on the right.  A double window was directly above the armchair—thankfully facing the park across the road and not the office building on the other side of the apartments—and it was framed by smoky-gray drapes held back by black chords; two white sheer drapes overlapped with one another to seamlessly create a cover for the window, which effectively kept the sunlight from being too harsh if he didn't feel like releasing the gray drapes from their restraints.  There were black, wooden cubes (that he was using as bookshelves) in the wall behind and above the couch, which had taken a bit of cajoling to obtain the landlady's approval. 

On the wall opposite him was the entertainment center—a contraption made up of mostly black wood; the base of it had two compartments on the left (which held a Blu-ray DVD player and a cable box in each) and two drawers with silver handles on the right (which held the few DVD's he owned).  The middle section was simply a large square frame, with the flat-screen Sony in the middle of it mounted on the wall.  Above that was a shorter section separated into two compartments (containing a couple of framed pictures of his family); on either side was a rectangular, black wooden frame that extended the length of the middle piece, four glass shelves sectioning them, with small lights embedded into the tops to sort of "showcase" the items.  There were a few more photos, plus a clock, but there were two items in particular that he had on display that he really liked.  One item was a rather large jar that was a replica of Pandora's Box; it had been given to him by his eldest brother Michael and what had gotten him interested in mythology in the first place.  The other item was most likely just a regular bugle horn, but his brother Gabriel had given it to him, claiming it was a replica of the Horn of Gabriel that he'd bought at some gift shop; it was likely meant as a gag gift, but Castiel had come to treasure it. 

He had allowed his friend Anna Milton to do the overall design of the apartment after he had found one he wanted to rent.  It had taken him a while to find one that was well-made, was not pre-furnished, and would allow him to change things he didn't like (so long as he submitted his plans to the landlady and got them approved).  He'd had to make a deal with her to let him make the approved changes before he moved into the apartment, and as a result he'd been paying half the month's rent the past few months since he wasn't actually _living_ there just yet.  It had been a small price to pay, really, when he arrived on August 1st to find everything in order and done just the way Anna had said it would be.

Of course, Anna hadn't let him get away with throwing it _all_ off on her.  She'd made him look through so many different layout options for each room first.  Then she'd had him pick what sort of color the focal point of the room (like the couch or the bed) would be.  She'd then proceeded to give him the different color schemes that could work with it, and they practically argued over what was considered "too stark" of a difference from one room to the next.  It was one thing to have a slight change, but he couldn't have one room be in golds and reds and then have another room in black and silver while yet another room was blues and greens.  He didn't see why not—because, really, it was _his_ place, and he hoped it would be for a while to come and he didn't really give a goat's mouth what other people might think—but Anna insisted that it would be important to the landlady, and he'd finally capitulated (though irritably) to let her choose his options based off what he chose for the living room, and he would choose from those.  After that fiasco had been settled and the plans approved, Castiel had thought his involvement would be finished.

Oh, how wrong he'd been.

Anna had proceeded to send multiple pictures and descriptions of every possible item she found that would work for their layout.  He was choosing between leather or cloth couches, marble or granite countertops, different shades of wood for cabinets, barstools with or without backs, this or that brand of appliance, a kitchen table that sat high or low, a high bed or a low bed, a shower with glass doors or filmy doors, a bathtub or an artfully-styled Jacuzzi—the list went on and on.  She'd even asked him about _lamps_ at one point.  And televisions, which she claimed he _had_ to have because he paid for cable in his rent fees, and if he had people over, it was best to have a television.

If he hadn't taken the summer off, Castiel seriously didn't think he would have had time to do any grading since Anna was determined not to make a single choice for him, unless it involved telling him what he _couldn't_ do.

But in the end he appreciated her for doing it.  This place was _his_ ; he'd been behind every decision, every change, and it made him feel like he was home, even if he had to deal with a television in his room and living room.  He might even capitulate and see if there was anything worth watching on one of the many, _many_ channels available if he found himself bored one evening.

The generic ringtone for his cellphone suddenly sounded in his apartment, and he grunted when he realized that it was still in the kitchen.  Since it could be anyone—he made a mental note to work on customizing ringtones for people—Castiel forced himself up and into the kitchen, moving past the kitchen table—he'd chosen the low top, a dark-cherry-stained wooden rectangular table with six black leather chairs with no armrests—and to the granite counter (black with gold and silver reflective specks) where he found his phone buzzing and the name "Anna" on the screen.  He quickly picked it up, swiping his thumb along the lower part of the screen to answer the call.

"Good evening, Anna," Castiel greeted.

Her excited voice rang out a bit loudly through the receiver.  "Hey, Castiel!  I was just calling to check up on you, see how things are going with the apartment.  Are you settled in yet?"

Castiel found himself smiling faintly as he nodded.  "Yes, I am.  I just finished unpacking, actually.  The place looks amazing, Anna.  You did an excellent job."

"I can't take all the credit.  You played a large role in getting it done the way you liked," Anna pointed out, sounding a little bashful.

"Yes, but no one would have been as persistently helpful as you were.  Thank you very much for your help.  It is greatly appreciated."  Castiel absently reached out to run his fingers along the top of a barstool's back.  The barstools were mostly made of dark cherry-stained wood (like the kitchen table and the cabinets) with a black leather square for cushioning in the back support and a black leather, circular cushion for the seat; extended from the seat were four legs with circular frames for supports.  "You should come visit sometime and see how it looks with all my belongings."  He was a little surprised to find himself extending the invitation, but he found he didn't mind the thought of seeing Anna.  They had been quite close in college, having bonded over a stark dislike of physics.

Anna's voice was warm with sincerity when she replied, "I would love to!  Maybe on a weekend or something; we can make a day of it, and you can show me around the town, maybe take me to your favorite restaurant or something.  It would be so much fun!"

He nodded to himself, a more genuine smile curving his lips.  "That sounds perfect, Anna.  Once classes get into full swing, and I have had time to acquaint myself with the city, I will call you.  Does that suit you?"

Soft laughter tinkled through the phone.  "You haven't changed a bit, Castiel.  That—"  There was some background noise that became muffled, and Castiel frowned slightly.  "Sorry," Anna apologized.  "I have to go, but you calling me when you're ready for me to come visit will be great.  I'll call you in a week or two, though, just to make sure things are still going well, okay?"

"Of course.  Take care."  It was probably a little abrupt, but Anna's words had been a little rushed, and she'd sounded a bit concerned, so Castiel didn't want to keep her on the line longer than he had to.

"Thanks.  You, too, Castiel."  And with a click, the call was ended.

Castiel had just set his phone back on the counter, about to head further into his kitchen and rummage through the cabinets to find something to eat, when his phone went off again.  Thinking Anna might have thought of something she had meant to tell him, he swiped his thumb across the screen to accept the call without looking at the name.  "Yes?"

"What, I don't even garner a 'hello' anymore?  I'm hurt, Cassie," the decidedly _un_ feminine voice drifted into Castiel's ear, causing the professor to suppress a groan.

There was no need in going through the niceties.  "You know I hate it when you call me that," he muttered without thinking.  "What do you want, Gabriel?"  Castiel briefly considered putting his caller on speaker and ignoring him.

"A little birdie told me my favorite little brother had gotten a job in the very same city I have established residence," Gabriel drawled, and this time Castiel didn't even try to keep from groaning irately.  He was going to kill whoever had told him.  "Taking a page out of my book, bro?"

Grunting out a humorless laugh, he pushed his free hand through his hair, tugging at it the locks lightly.  "Not quite.  It was one of the few universities hiring a Mythology professor, and I cannot be too prejudiced in choosing my place of work if I want to teach."  That wasn't to say he had anything against the nearby college—because he really didn't.  He didn't exactly _need_ to teach to pay bills or anything like that; he simply _wanted_ to teach, badly enough that it could be considered a need.  No college or university would be bad, so long as the students were willing to listen and learn.

But Gabriel was insinuating he'd chosen one of the colleges further away from home on purpose, in an effort to get away from their family, and that simply was not the case.

"Also, I am the only younger brother you have, so it is not difficult to be your 'favorite little brother,' Gabriel," Castiel muttered as an afterthought, his lips twitching into a wry smile even if his brother couldn't see it.

Gabriel snorted.  "I am truly concerned for your future students.  How did you make it through college with your propensity to take things so literally?"

Castiel felt the ridiculous urge to roll his eyes for the first time in several years.  "Did you call simply to inform me you knew I moved into town?"

"No.  I was curious if you had any plans Saturday.  Figured I could show you around and tell you all the places _not_ to go."  Gabriel sounded nonchalant, like it didn't matter, but Castiel knew better, and guilt swelled inside him, weighing heavily on his stomach.  Ever since Gabriel had picked up and left home, he hadn't been back, and Castiel had probably seen him _maybe_ once a year.  Gabriel wasn't exactly welcomed at family events or holidays, given the manner in which he'd left, and from what Castiel had gathered, he didn't even _want_ to be welcomed to them (and Castiel couldn't blame him for that).

Before Gabriel had left, they had spent a lot of their time together.  Where most teens would toss their little brothers aside, Gabriel had dragged Castiel along, even when he hadn't wanted to be there.  Gabriel was definitely an assbutt if there ever was one, but he was the least judgmental person Castiel knew, and that had been the rock in Castiel's life.  Gabriel had made sure to be there for him when it mattered most, and when the time had come for Castiel to return the favor, he hadn't done it.  It was something he deeply regretted, and yet he never seemed to remember it until after he'd been a complete ass to his elder brother.  It was a long-ingrained reaction, but there were things Castiel could do to attempt to make up for it, and he was determined to at least try.

An easy first step would be to accept Gabriel's invitation; no matter how much of a pest his brother could be, Castiel always enjoyed their outings.  "I find my Saturday is entirely booked," he responded after a moment of silence.

Gabriel's voice was perfectly neutral as he intoned, "Oh, well, that's fine."

Confusion caused Castiel's brows to draw together.  Then it hit him how his answer had probably sounded.  He practically rushed his words in order to clear up his meaning.  "I have a pesky older brother wishing to show me around town."

A beat of silence.  And then, " _Oh_."  Gabriel's chuckle caused Castiel's lips to curve into a smile.  "That was a good one, Cassie.  You've improved a little."

"Thanks, Gabriel," he deadpanned.

"No problem, little bro.  Always willing to tell the truth."  Gabriel's voice was warm and excited, and it helped to lift the weight of guilt and replace it with a pleasant warmth.  "Well, I'll leave you to it, then.  I'll call you Saturday morning!"

Castiel found himself nodding.  "I look forward to it.  See you then; good night, Gabriel."

"'Til Saturday," Gabriel farewelled, and Castiel smiled at his phone as he ended the call.

It was a small step, and it was a late one, but hopefully it wasn't too late.

 

* * *

 

The following Tuesday found him in the front of a classroom, his briefcase on the table he was currently perched against.  His class didn't start for another ten minutes, but there were already a few students trickling into the room.  Castiel allowed his mind to drift while he waited.

Saturday had indeed been fun; Gabriel had made sure of it.  Castiel had also been exhausted by the time he'd gotten home to his apartment, which had also been nice.  He was quite positive Gabriel had dragged him to every single place in town, and they'd gone _in_ almost every place, too.  It had definitely been a little on the ridiculous side of things, and Castiel wasn't sure he'd remember half the places.  The ones that stuck out the most were the ones Gabriel had told him to avoid _before walking inside them_.  He truly wondered what went on inside his older brother's head sometimes, but then again he probably would regret knowing if he found out, so he kept that thought safely tucked away, just in case Gabriel chose to "humor" him and give details.

Gabriel had also shown him to a _very_ crowded place called "Harvelle Roadhouse" that Gabriel informed him was simply called "The Roadhouse" by all the townsfolk.  Gabriel had wanted to go inside and eat, but Castiel had refused because if they couldn't find a place to park (since the parking lot didn't really have set parking spaces), then there was no way there would be a table available, and he was not going to wait for two hours or more just to eat someplace.  Gabriel had made a face but agreed on the condition that they come back some other evening.

The place that stuck out most in his mind, however, was one they hadn't been able to go inside:  Piegatory Café.  (Castiel had smiled when Gabriel told him it was a play off the word "purgatory.")  Gabriel had been extremely disheartened about the place being closed for the day—so much so that he had sent a text to someone who apparently worked there, just to see what the deal was.  Castiel hadn't been informed of the answer, but whatever it was seemed to drag Gabriel out of the slump that had almost formed.  Gabriel had only agreed to leave when Castiel promised to go to Piegatory Café within the week and try one of their pastries.  Even after he'd told his brother he would, Gabriel threatened that he would know if Castiel did it because he would tell everyone that worked there to look out for him.  Castiel had rolled his eyes but stated more firmly that he would go, and then they'd left. 

It would probably be best to go ahead and get that out of the way, actually; he could go after he dismissed his class, get something simple like soup to eat for dinner, and ask for a slice of pie (since those were bound to be good if the place had "pie" in its name, right?).  Pie was always a good option, anyway.

When Castiel lifted his gaze from the floor to focus on the clock, he noted there were still about five minutes left before his class officially started, and then he shifted his focus to the classroom in front of him again.  He was a little surprised to see that most of the seats were filled, and even more surprised to see the entire front row was full:  four boys and four girls, though not split that way.  A blonde girl with wavy hair was seated at the far left (when facing towards the back of the room) end of the row, phone in her hands and her shoulders drawn in a little.  Next to her was a boy with short, dark, and curly hair with a pair of black rectangular glasses perched on his nose; he was fiddling with a camera, which gave Castiel pause as he made a mental note to address it and edit his syllabus to reflect his feelings on them in future semesters.  Seated on his other side was another boy, this one with unruly brown hair and a smile on his face, his undivided attention on the talking male seated to his left, even though said male was conversing with two others.  He also had (styled) unruly brown hair and black, rectangular glasses, and he was the only male of the four to have facial hair (though it was hardly there) in the vague shape of a beard and mustache.  The dark-haired boy directly beside him was nodding to something he was saying, speaking fairly intermittently.  Beside him was a girl (possibly of Asian descent) with straight dark hair, and she was leaning around him, and partly against him almost comfortably, making sure she was included in the conversation.  The girl beside her had light brown, curly hair, and she was currently writing in a notebook settled in the middle of her and the red-haired girl beside her, who was grinning as she watched said girl write.

If Castiel had to guess, he would say the two on the far right were friends, and not with the rest of the row.  The two on the far left _could_ be there on their own, but he had a vague notion that they were with the four in the middle, so it was more likely they had been talked into the class.  The two boys in the very middle (the ones talking) were definitely friends, probably the two who had chosen to take the class.  The other girl, with how she was leaning against the dark-haired boy, had potential to be the boy's girlfriend; if not, she almost certainly liked him, at least.  And the last boy, well—going off the look on his face, he had probably jumped at the opportunity to be in the same class as the boy he was currently watching speak with such rapt attention.  Castiel kind of felt for the boy; he remembered those days, the way there was just a _need_ to be around that one person who made you happy for no reason other than simply existing.  He hoped it ended better for this boy than it had for him.

A glance at the clock spurred Castiel into action.  He scooped the syllabi off the desk behind him and walked to the left end of the first row.  "Good afternoon," he spoke, making sure to project his voice as he counted eight packets.  "My name is Castiel Novak, but I would appreciate it if you would address me as Dr. Novak."  Moving to the next row, he started counting, even as he continued speaking.  "This is my first semester teaching Mythology, so you and my Monday-Wednesday class will be my guinea pigs.  For those of you who are curious, I originally taught English Literature to high school students while I finished getting my Ph.D.  It was not very gratifying since that was when the _Twilight_ novels were what half my students considered fine literature."  That received quiet laughter from the students, and his lips quirked in a faint smile in return.  "I would like to make this as pleasant, and hopefully fun, for you all as I possibly can, so feel free to email me any suggestions you have that fall within the school's definition of proper conduct."  He handed the last row their packets and waited for a moment before asking, "Did anyone not get a copy of the syllabus, or did I hand out too many copies to any row?"

A few people shook their heads, and when no hands rose, he nodded satisfiedly to himself before walking back to the front of the room.  He set down the extra copies before leaning back against the desk once more, crossing his feet at the ankles.  "All right; since I know most of you are probably itching to leave, I'll try to make this quick, call roll, and then let you go.  On Thursday you need to pick a seat you want to stay in for the duration of the semester.  I will pass around a sheet of paper with labeled spaces, and you will write your first and last names, followed by what you prefer to be called.  Please keep your preferred names from being too indecent, or I will simply call you by whichever name I prefer."  His hands slipped into his coat pockets as he gathered his thoughts.  "Given that Reading 98 is a prerequisite course to this one, I'm going to operate under the assumption that you can and will read the syllabus.  Nearly everything you need to know is addressed in there, but if you find you have a question that is not answered, please do not hesitate to contact me.  I doubt I will be in my office outside the hours I have listed, so don't call my office phone outside those hours.  In fact, my office phone is my least preferred way for you to contact me.  My email is set up to send to my cell phone, which is always on me, so try that first.  If I have not answered you within twenty-four hours, or if it is an emergency, you will see that I have a second phone number listed—that is my cell number."  He paused as several students blinked in shock, and he even heard a few suck in sharp breaths.  "Do _not_ abuse it," he ordered, his gaze slowly moving over the students.

"To get the bad news out of the way, attendance is mandatory.  If I do my job properly, you hopefully won't have a reason to hate me for it, even if it's not my choice to make you be here."  Castiel smiled a little more widely, shrugging.  "On a lighter note, so long as you don't make a mess or cause a distraction, you are free to eat and drink during my lectures.  If your neighbors or if any staff complain, however, I will tell you to desist."  He paused for a moment, thinking over what else he wanted to address.  "I will email the powerpoints I use for lectures to your school email every Sunday before we start them.  It would probably prove beneficial to print them off and take notes on whatever I say that is not included in them.  On that note, I did not address the usage of recording devices."  He shifted his gaze to the curly-haired boy with the camera in the front row, who had stiffened.  "I do not mind if you use them, so long as you are not disruptive with them."  The boy relaxed, and he let his gaze drift over the other students.  "That's all I can think to address at the moment.  The rest should be in your syllabus.  If you have not started reading that, please do so while I take names of everyone who's here.  When I'm finished, if none of you have questions, then I will dismiss you."

There were a few excited titters at that, and Castiel shook his head with a slight smile before he stood and walked around to the podium, where he'd left his attendance record.  "When I say your name, please raise your hand and say either 'present' or 'here.'"  There were a couple of names before he reached one of the students on the first row.  "Bradbury, Charlie."  His eyes quickly shifted from the page and to the group of students in front of him. 

The hand of the redhead on the far right of the front row shot up.  "Here!" she exclaimed a little enthusiastically, grinning.  Castiel couldn't help but smile back before he shifted his gaze back down and made a check mark in the box next to her name.

He only made it two names further before another one of his first rower's was identified.  "Corbett, Alan."

The boy with the unruly brown hair who had a crush on the other boy with the (styled) unruly brown hair raised his hand, smiling shyly.  "Here, sir."  Well, that was a little adorable.

The next name also belonged to a first rower.  "Dupont, Gilda."

The girl with curly, light brown hair raised her hand, smiling sweetly.  "Present."

He was about halfway down the list when he reached another one.  "Monroe, Ambyr."

The girl with the curly blonde hair, seated at the far left, raised her hand only partially.  "Here," she called out, just loud enough for her voice to carry to him.

It was several names later that he called out, "Spangler, Harry."

The dark-haired boy seated in the middle of the row raised his hand, one side of his lips turned up as he aimed for (Castiel assumed) a somewhat cocky smirk.  "That's me."  Castiel waited patiently, quirking one brow only slightly.  The boy's cheeks colored slightly, and he cleared his throat.  "I mean, um, present, Dr. Novak."

"Spruce, Kenny," Castiel continued, mollified by the extra step and the boy's capability of picking up on subtle clues.

The boy with the camera raised his hand only a little as well.  "I'm here."

Castiel let that one slide since the boy actually used the word he'd requested.  The last two of his first row students were not identified until the very end.  "Zeddmore, Ed."

Cue the rising hand of (styled)-unruly-brown-haired boy with glasses.  "Present, sir," the boy practically drawled, and Castiel noticed the way Alan Corbett's eyes quickly glanced in the direction of that voice.

Castiel settled his gaze on the last girl in the front row, chuckling slightly.  "I suppose that leaves you as Miss Maggie Zeddmore."

The brunette nodded, flashing him a quick smile.  "Yes, sir.  Present."

The added "present" wasn't necessary, but the girl had apparently picked up on her friend's slight mistake and wanted to insure she didn't make the same one.  With a nod at her, he checked the final box before setting down his pen and lacing his fingers together.  "Well, if there are any questions, ask them now.  If not, check your emails tomorrow for Thursday's powerpoint, and I will see you all then."

This prompted excited talking as the students all spurred into action, and Castiel proceeded to pack up his items, satisfied that his second day (even if it was a repeat of his first) had gone well enough.

 

* * *

 

Castiel took a picture of his "soup of the day" (butternut squash) and his slice of pie (cherry) when he took a seat at one of the tables in Piegatory Café.  He quickly sent it off to Gabriel, in order to show he'd followed through on his promise, and then he pocketed his phone again.  After a slight hesitation, he scooped up some of the soup, eyeing the yellow-orange substance before slipping the spoon into his mouth and allowing the soup to spill over his tongue.  He made a slight noise of surprised delight when the flavors burst in his mouth, and he ended up digging into the soup while his stomach gurgled slightly from the lack of food it had received all day.

He finished it off all too quickly, and he frowned at the empty bowl in front of him, but then he shifted his gaze to the pie.  Anticipation welled in his stomach; if the soup had been that good, surely the pie would be amazing.  His fingers found the fork easily, and he set the tines on the tip of the golden crust, pushing them through the breading and the cherries easily.  He tried to force his expectations down lower as he brought the bite to his lips, and with a firm nod to himself, he closed his lips around the fork.

And then promptly had to bite back the urge to moan.

Cherry and almond and the barest hint of cinnamon exploded on his tongue, and Castiel had to close his eyes tightly with the effort it took to keep any appreciative noises from sounding in his throat.  _Nothing_ should be allowed to taste this amazing.  He opened his eyes only long enough to scoop up another piece of gold and red goodness, chewing with excruciating slowness.

A few minutes later, he was staring at an empty pie plate, fighting the impulse to order a second piece.  He didn't _need_ a second piece.  He never should have had a first piece.  Actually, he never should have set foot in Piegatory Café.  He liked the ambience of the place.  He liked the food.  He _definitely_ liked the dessert.

Damn Gabriel and his need to show Castiel around town.  There was no way to walk away from a place like this.  Knowing himself the way he did, he'd probably end up in here just about every day of the week.  He just wouldn't allow himself to leave his apartment on the weekends.

Fishing his phone back out of his pocket, he pressed the button on the top of the device to light the screen up then swiped his thumb across the middle of the screen to open the text from his brother.

_"Damn.  Already there?"_

Directly underneath it was a second gray bubble with the words, _"Didn't get to warn them. :("_

Castiel snorted and quickly replied, "Yes, I wanted to get it over with, and now I am angry for ever setting foot in here."  He hit send before typing, "I hate you for this."

Gabriel's response was instant, _"LOL no you don't.  The pie get you?"_

"Yes," Castiel answered simply.

The next response took a moment.  _"Told them before that it should come with a warning label saying orgasms may occur ;)"_

Unbidden, heat crept up the back of his neck, and he typed out his reply and hit send before he could rethink it.  "I would have no-strings-attached sex with the person who made it."

Gabriel's answer came in several bursts, and it was obvious he was surprised since he didn't even waste time to add in punctuation.  Gabriel always texted the way he talked, without worrying about filtering and ultimately without deleting (since he couldn’t delete his words when speaking).

_"Wow"_

_"That"_

_"You're serious"_

_"Aren't you"_

_"What if it was a woman"_

Castiel shrugged a shoulder as he answered, "For that pie I would try just about anything."

Gabriel's response dragged a chuckle from him.  _"Holy shit"_

_"Btw"_

_"I'm showing all the pastry chefs that"_

Castiel felt his face flame, and he had to fix several errors with how quickly he was trying to answer.  "Don't you dare!  Or I will tell Kali about your mystery blonde."

He wasn't able to calm down until his phone buzzed again.  _"Fine.  Party pooper."_

Castiel almost left it at that, but he sent one last text before slipping his phone into his pocket.

"I still hate you for making me set foot in this place.  Orgasm-worthy pie or not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I'll address some things before wrapping it up:  
> \-- Gilda/Charlie is a possible pairing that may occur (still in debate).  
> \-- Corbett/Ed will for-sure be one-sided, but I'm not sure if it can or will be mutual (maybe hinted?).  
> \-- Harry/Maggie was semi-canon in the show, I think, so it's possible, but not really set in stone.  
> \-- Gabriel/Kali is _not_ happening, and this may be the only mentioning of it, unless it's brought up as a past thing. Sorry; they're just not my thing. (Gabriel might just stay single-ish.)  
>  \-- Anna is not going to interfere with any couples, and I'm not sure if I'll have her with anyone (unless you guys have suggestions) but I did want to say she will be in it.  
> \-- Gilda Dupont - Dupont is the actress's last name, and since Gilda had no last name, that's what I gave her.  
> \-- Ambyr Monroe - Read "Gilda Dupont" info; replace with these names. Ambyr is actually supposed to be Corbett's replacement in the Ghostfacers, but I love Corbett, so he's in this.  
> \-- Not sure what the rule is for cherry pie, but I'm pretty certain most don't have cinnamon in them, if any even do. You're also not supposed to cut them only ten minutes after preparing one, but Dean did that, too. Lol.
> 
> I believe that's it; feel free to ask questions about anything you may be confused over!
> 
> I know I said the next chapter would start where chapter two left off, but it won't start exactly there. I'm going to somewhat lead up to it (partially because I don't want to jump too far ahead in Cas's part and then backtrack in Dean's because I'm worried I'll get into a rut where it keeps occurring). Anywho, I'll shoot for it to be out Wednesday; hopefully, it'll go smoothly and be finished earlier!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! As always, any feedback is totally appreciated! (;


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi vey, I am so sorry this is so late! Maybe I should stop saying days for this to be ready. In my defense, this would have been finished sooner had there not been several evenings in which I didn't get to write when I'd planned. We had a bird crawl into the dryer vent at my mom's house. I spent most of my evening a few nights ago trying to figure out how to get it out since it's just my mom and me in town. Then the other day I got dragged into going out to dinner, and that took up five hours of my life I'll never get back. And finally I got to spend several hours cleaning, which just set me back even more.
> 
> But it's here! And I'm not going to delay much longer. (;
> 
> This starts exactly four weeks after the ending of the last chapter, and it ends a little past Cas getting the pie handed to him by Charlie. It's mostly new material, and don't skip the entire ending if you've read it because I added some things.
> 
> I can't think of any warnings, but if there seems to be something I should edit here, let me know.
> 
> Totally unbeta'ed, but hopefully it's still happy reading!

_Four Weeks Later_

"Knock, knock," came a voice from the general vicinity of the doorway.

Castiel couldn't even be bothered to murmur two words and simply held up his index finger for a short second as he finished entering quiz grades.  He then turned and blinked in surprise, going somewhat rigid in shock. 

The lithe, sandy-haired, blue-eyed man standing in the doorway had the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.  He had his right arm bent and propped against the doorframe, his left hip cocked just slightly with his left hand perched on it; his right leg was crossed in front of his left, bent at the knee with the toe of his designer shoes resting against the floor.  "Afternoon, Cassie."

There was no reason for him to be here, in Castiel's office, or he probably wouldn't have felt the spark of irritation that had his eyes narrowing.  "What are you doing here, Balthazar?"

The man played hurt, bringing his left hand to his chest.  "Now, Cassie, what if I just wanted to see you?"

"You couldn't call and say you were nearby, ask to go eat or something?  Or, better yet, wait until Thanksgiving?"  The slight shift in Balthazar's expression made Castiel chuckle bitterly, rubbing a hand against his face.  "I can't believe this.  Which one of them sent you?"

Balthazar's lips shifted into an apologetic smile.  "My dear old dad."  Also known as Castiel's Uncle Zachariah.

"What did I ever do to deserve this?" Castiel murmured to himself.  Louder, he sighed, "I'm _not_ following in Gabriel's footsteps.  This was the only university willing to hire a Mythology professor with no real experience in teaching the course.  I'm coming home for Thanksgiving, which was something that could have been easily rectified with a phone call."

Balthazar opened his mouth to speak when the sound of a throat being cleared came from behind him.  Balthazar didn't move except to turn his head to glance over his shoulder, and Castiel frowned as he stood from his desk and walked to the door.  A look around Balthazar showed an auburn-haired, blue-eyed woman dressed in a pantsuit, most of her hair pulled back in a neat bun—a woman well-known as the Dean of Liberal Arts, aka Castiel's boss's boss.

"Dr. Tapping, what a pleasant surprise.  Is there something I can help you with?" Castiel inquired, his right shoulder rolling back slightly.

The auburn-haired woman smiled, shaking her head.  "My apologies for interrupting, Castiel.  I was on my way home for the evening, and I remembered I hadn't confirmed sitting in on your class on Thursday.  I thought it best to let you know I was still planning on doing that."  Her gaze shifted to Balthazar (who still had not moved and was simply grinning at her over his shoulder) before shifting back to Castiel.

That spurred Castiel into a response.  "Oh, no, you weren't interrupting really.  Thank you for letting me know."  He paused before adding, "Uh, Dr. Tapping, this is my cousin Balthazar Adler.  Balthazar, this is Dr. Naomi Tapping.  She's the Dean of Liberal Arts."

Balthazar finally moved, turning around to face Naomi fully and holding out his hand.  "How do you do?"

Naomi reached out and took Balthazar's hand with a little hesitance, her smile just a tiny bit stiff.  "I am quite well, thank you."  Her gaze returned to Castiel, and she cleared her throat.  "I wish I could stay and talk, but I really must be going.  I look forward to your lecture on Thursday."  With a nod to them both, she turned and walked away.

"Well, someone has a stick up her—"

" _Hush_ ," Castiel hissed, elbowing his cousin in the ribs.  "You're worse than Gabriel."

Balthazar's blue eyes were shining as he lips quirked into an actual grin.  "Oh, Cassie, he will be so offended when I tell him you said that."

Castiel rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, turning back into his office.  "I really do despise that nickname," he stated, almost as an afterthought, as he sat back down in his desk chair and started his end-of-the-work-day ritual.  "How long are you staying in town?"

"I have a plane to catch tomorrow afternoon," Balthazar murmured, sounding slightly distracted.

Castiel chanced a glance at his cousin to see him looking in one of Castiel's folders on the desk.  "Balthazar, please don't touch my things."  Said male sighed dramatically but closed the folder and slipped his hands into his pant pockets.  "Have you already eaten dinner?"

Balthazar grinned and shook his head.  "Nope.  And to save you the trouble of asking, I would love to go to dinner with you, Cassie."

Castiel's lips twitched, and he focused his attention on packing up his briefcase.  "During the week, I eat dinner at Piegatory Café.  Are you all right with it?"

"A café, hm?  Must be good to keep you away from burgers," Balthazar mused.

Shrugging his shoulders, Castiel picked up his briefcase and double-checked to make sure his computer had shut down properly.  He felt heat bloom on the back of his neck, though he wasn't sure why.  "It has actually been quite helpful.  A diet of burgers is not very healthy."

Balthazar led the way into the hallway, and Castiel closed and locked his office door behind them.  "What do you eat at this café?" Balthazar queried, easily falling into step with Castiel.

"I typically get their soup of the day," Castiel answered.

Balthazar's laughter was unexpected.  "You've given up burgers for _soup_?"

Heat bloomed in Castiel's face, and he raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulder.  "The soup is actually very good."  His cousin hummed slightly, showing he didn't quite believe him.  "They also make the best pie I have ever eaten," he added gruffly after a long pause during which he could feel Balthazar's eyes watching him.

"Ooo, now we're talking, Cassie.  For you to claim a pie as the best, it must have made quite an impression," Balthazar commented, his tone lined with just the slightest bit of amusement.

Castiel sent him a narrowed glance.  "There is nothing ulterior to that statement, Balthazar.  It _is_ the best pie I have ever eaten.  I have not seen the person who makes it, and Gabriel's text when I spoke to him about it alluded that it is likely a woman."  He paused before admitting a little hesitantly, "Although, I would probably be willing to set aside personal preferences if she approached me when I had just finished a slice of that pie."

Balthazar made a noise that sounded almost like a choke, and Castiel frowned a little in concern before practically yelping in surprise when his arm was suddenly grabbed, and he was being pulled along faster.  "All right, you've convinced me.  We're going to Piegatory Café for dinner."

 

* * *

 

The blue-eyed, brunette teen standing behind the counter smiled pleasantly when he saw Castiel.  "Good evening.  The usual soup of the day and a water?"

"Good evening.  And yes, thank you," Castiel answered, handing over his card.  He briefly debated on asking for a slice of cherry pie but decided against it when he caught sight of Balthazar's grin.

"Here you go, sir.  I hope you have a pleasant meal."  Samandriel handed Castiel a cup for his water and, after detaching the receipt from the machine, passed the card and receipt to him.  Castiel nodded at him with a smile, stepping aside but not walking away since he didn't trust Balthazar.

His cousin stepped forward, beaming at the teenager.  "Hello!"

"Good evening, sir, and welcome to Piegatory Café.  What can I get you this evening?"  The normal, scripted words spilled from the cashier without a second thought, and Castiel found himself biting back a chuckle.  He remembered when he'd gotten that greeting a few days in a row, and when he'd come back the next Monday, the boy had simply started asking if he wanted his "usual."

"I believe I will take a bowl of your soup of the day."  Balthazar paused, his eyes studying the menu before finally resettling on the cashier.  "And a blackberry iced tea, please."  Samandriel nodded, tapping at the screen in front of him.  "What types of pie do you have?"

The boy's teeth caught at his lower lip, and he took a step back, glancing over at the case.  "I think we have cherry, apple, pecan, and coconut cream pie left."

"I'll take a slice of pecan and a slice of cherry."  Balthazar handed over his card before his gaze flicked over to Castiel, his lips curling into a smirk that gave Castiel all the warning he needed.  "Is your pie chef a man or a woman?"

Samandriel looked up, startled, and stammered, "Wh—uh, I'm not—I'm sorry, what?"

Castiel stepped in before things could go further.  "Please excuse my friend.  He thinks he's funny."  Flashing the cashier a smile, he sent Balthazar a dark look that spoke volumes, but Balthazar simply chuckled.  Samandriel nodded, still looking a little confused, and he quickly gave Balthazar his card and receipt.

"Um, thank you for choosing to dine with us.  I hope you have a pleasant evening, sir."

Balthazar bent down slightly, and Castiel would have snapped at him if he wasn't thrown off by his cousin's behavior.  The cashier stiffened when the sandy-haired man grinned.  "Thank you, Samandriel," Balthazar drawled before turning to Castiel.  "Well, lead the way.  I've never been here, but I doubt we'll get our food standing here."

Castiel released an irritated sigh through his nose, spinning on his heel and walking off in the direction of the food pick-up counter.  "I am never bringing you here again," he vowed to his cousin.  He quickly grabbed the tray with the bowl of soup on it.  "Stay here until you see your order, then try and find me without causing a scene."

"I'm hurt, Cassie," Balthazar stated with an over-done frown, one of his hands going to his chest above his heart.

Castiel didn't even grant that a reply as he went to the drink fountain and filled his cup with water.  He had the feeling he would be on the verge of strangling Balthazar by the end of their meal.

 

* * *

 

Miraculously, Balthazar managed to live to see another day, though the cherry pie _probably_ had something to do with that.  (It also helped that Balthazar had seemed to enjoy the food just as much as Castiel had.)

Thursday found Castiel a little stressed and nervous, though.  The stress was from starting to read the essays his Monday-Wednesday class's students had handed in the prior evening.  He hadn't held out _much_ hope for them to be better than the essays his high school students had provided, but he had hoped for them to be at least marginally better in content.  If his Tuesday-Thursday class's essays turned out to be just as awful, he would probably just stop reading them as thoroughly as he was and give everyone a grade based on participation.  To be fair, he'd only read about six out of thirty-plus essays, but that was still concerning.  He didn't want to give them _all_ bad grades, since it was possible if he didn't like any of them, he was expecting too much.

His nervousness stemmed from the fact that Naomi would be sitting in the back of the room for the duration of his lecture.  Some of the other professors had made a big deal of it since Naomi had only listened to a couple of professors' lectures, and _never_ in their first semester, apparently.  Castiel wasn't sure if it was a _good_ thing or not, and he was truly worried he'd already done something that screwed up his chances.  He was on a per-semester contract at the moment, so if she decided she didn't want him there, he could easily be out of a job come spring.

Needless to say, by the time his class rolled around, he was internally freaking out.  Clearing his throat, Castiel tried to ignore the presence of the woman at the back of the room until he gathered the students' essays.  "If all of you will, please pass your essays to the far right end of your row," he instructed, making his way to the last row in order to give everyone time to pass their essays down the row.  He managed a smile and nod at Naomi as he gathered the papers, slowly making his way back to the front of the room.  He slipped them into an empty folder he'd brought with him, and then slid the folder into his briefcase.  Turning back to face the class, he announced, "As I am sure some of you may have noticed, Dr. Tapping is in the back of the room.  She is observing my lecture this afternoon, but do not let that deter you from making your normal input."

Castiel gave his students time to shift in their seats before he continued speaking.  "I thought we would do something different today.  Can any of you name some famous relationships in Greek mythology?"

"Paris and Helen," a girl with pink hair offered.  "And in the same breath, I guess Menelaus and Helen were pretty famous, too."

Castiel nodded.  "Those are good examples, Shelby.  Any more?"

"Would Heracles and Megara count?" Maggie queried.

Castiel chuckled slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the table.  "Though it is more famous for its _Disney_ film adaptation, I believe it is safe to include that pairing in our list.  Their ending was a bit more tragic, considering Heracles killed their children, and in one version of the story, Megara was given to someone else while in another version, he murdered her, as well."

His students seemed a bit taken aback by this news, and Castiel momentarily regretted saying the words without thinking through them first.  A black-haired boy in the last row spoke up after a short moment of silence, thankfully, "Agamemnon and Clytemnestra."

"Very good, Ryan.  That is one of the more common stories," Castiel agreed.

"Penelope and Odysseus."  He wasn't quite sure where that had come from, but he wasn't given long to dwell on it since almost immediately after it had been said, one of his first rowers suggested something.

"Leda and the swan, which would really be Leda and Zeus, are rather popular," Harry commented.

Castiel hesitated, licking his lips as he uncrossed his arms to raise a hand and rub at the back of his neck.  "I do not feel comfortable terming that as a relationship, Mr. Spangler, given the context of it.  The _poem_ is famous, yes.  If any of you are unfamiliar with the poem, you can look it up in your spare time.  I advise you to proceed with caution, however, as the content is sensitive and could possibly be triggering, though it is done somewhat vaguely."  Clearing his throat, Castiel pressed his palms flat to the table at his sides.  "There is one pairing I have in mind that you are missing.  It has several adaptations still being written in novels."

It was silent for a few minutes, and Castiel almost thought no one was going to offer any other possibilities.

"Are you talking about Hades and Persephone, Dr. Novak?" Charlie questioned, and a grin spread his lips wide.

"Exactly!" Castiel answered, gesturing in Charlie's direction.  "Hades and Persephone.  What do you all know about that myth?"  He probably looked like he was vibrating with excitement, but this was one of his favorite subjects.

Several responses came at once.

"Hades kidnapped Persephone."

"Persephone's mom was pissed about it."

"It's why Spring and Winter happen."

"It's, like, one of the earliest Stockholm syndrome stories."

There was a chorus of laughter throughout the room at the last remark, and even Castiel chuckled.  "I do not believe I would take it that far," he chided pleasantly, absently tapping his fingers against the table.

Corbett piped up, "But she did fall in love with Hades, right?  Isn't Stockholm syndrome where a captive develops feelings for his or her captor?"

This prompted a sigh from Castiel as he furrowed his brows, his eyes narrowing a little as he thought of the best way to answer Corbett.  "There is an interpretation where Persephone fell in love with Hades, yes," he replied haltingly.  "I am not a Psychology professor, so forgive me if I turn out to be incorrect, but Stockholm syndrome is where a hostage feels empathetic or sympathetic towards a captor.  Sometimes hostages have even been defensive of their captors because their captors did not abuse them.

"Depending on the work you find, Persephone either spent four months or six months in the Underworld.  Supposedly, when Demeter had pleaded with Hades to release her daughter, Zeus was consulted, and six months was what Hades and Zeus settled upon.  The story where she spent four months was explained by Persephone eating four seeds of a pomegranate given to her by Hades, which could be interpreted to mean she had to return to the Underworld four months out of twelve.  Hades allowed her to be free the other eight months with her mother Demeter."  Castiel paused, smiling to himself; his students were listening intently, even though they had probably heard this information before now.  "That is how the origins of Spring and Winter came to be; when Persephone retreated to the Underworld, Demeter stopped tending the land.  Originally, Winter had occurred because Persephone was missing for so long, and Demeter refused to tend to the earth while she was mourning the loss of her daughter.  The sentiment was practically the same when Persephone left to stay with Hades those four months.

"That is not exactly normal captive-captor behavior, which is why I hesitate to call the adaptations where she falls in love Stockholm syndrome behavior.  Yes, Hades held her captive, and he kidnapped her because he was in love with her, but she was not required to see him—and _only_ him—for too long, if ever.  The Underworld has more than just Hades wandering around it," Castiel teased lightly, his smile widening just a little.  "More often than not, interpretations say Persephone _eventually_ grew to love Hades.  That could take hundreds of years, for all we know; they are gods, after all."

"That would have made quite the slow-burn relationship."  The statement came from Charlie, who looked surprised and a little bashful that she had said such a thing out loud as a few students chuckled.

Castiel was slightly perplexed, but he didn't have the chance to comment since another student—a female, though he couldn't place which one—added, "If that's true, poor Hades.  He probably wasn't getting any for a while."  Laughter erupted in the classroom, which prompted Castiel to put his hands up to quiet them.  The students quickly quieted, though a few were still snickering and giggling behind their hands.

"Whichever one of you said that is lucky I couldn't tell where it came from," he warned, though his tone lacked any real threat since he was mildly amused by the commentary.  "Show of hands—how many of you believe Persephone never _really_ grew to care for Hades?"  A couple of his students put their hands up, a little cautiously.  "All right, and now I want to know how many of you believe Persephone actually cares for Hades?"  A majority of his students' hands went up, but he knew it didn't account for the entire class.  "And how many of you don't care or don't really know what you think on the subject?"  The last of the hands went up, and he nodded, satisfied.

"This is going to be a large hint for your final in this class:  read some background for their story, decide if you believe it or if you don't believe it or even if you aren't able to make a choice either way, and explain why you feel that way.  It will probably be the easiest short essay question on your exam, if you've done just a little bit of research.  There is no right or wrong answer, by the way.  It is all open to interpretation."

Gilda raised her hand slightly and waited for Castiel to nod at her before she asked, "What do you think?"

Castiel shook his head just slightly as he chuckled.  "I hope you will forgive me for dodging the question, but I don't foresee anything good coming from answering it."

There were some upset murmurs at that, and one student (a male) exclaimed, "Come on, Dr. Novak!  We won't let it sway our opinion for the final!"

Castiel opened his mouth to say "no" when Naomi spoke, startling him since he had (somehow) managed to forget she was there.

"I will share my opinion if you share yours, Dr. Novak," the auburn-haired woman bartered. 

His students' expressions became eager again, and that—coupled with the slight challenging look on Naomi's face—prompted Castiel to sigh in defeat.  "All right."

Naomi smiled.  "I like to think she grew to love him and enjoyed being queen of the Underworld.  It sounds like it would be quite the job."

Castiel nodded slowly, and with a glance at the clock to see how much time he had left in class, he worried his lower lip between his teeth before making an impulsive decision.  "The Underworld is not the Greek version of Hell.  Sometimes people forget that.  It is where the souls of the dead go, all of them.  It is depicted in a rather dark light, but I've always imagined it differently.  To me it isn't just some dreary place, though _parts_ of it definitely are.  Some souls are there to be punished, after all."  After a short pause, he continued, "I imagine Persephone was definitely unhappy in the beginning; she was living amongst the dead, after all.  She missed her mother, and she was in an unfamiliar place.  When she was able to leave, the initial plan had been for her to stay in the Underworld for half the year.  There was lore about how eating the fruit of your captor doomed you to return to your captor, and she was either tricked or somehow persuaded into eating a pomegranate given to her by Hades so that she would have no choice but to return to him.  However, instead of being made to return in six months, she was permitted to return in eight months' time.  Two-thirds of her time was spent with her mother Demeter, and she could probably do as she pleased.  What was to stop her from finding another man—or woman—while she was out of the Underworld?  Did that thought ever cross her mind?

"Persephone was only in the Underworld for four months every year.  If Hades really loved her like he claimed, I think he gave her a decent amount of freedom in the Underworld.  He didn't force anything on her, maybe even attempted to court her.  When she rebuffed him, it probably pissed him off, but he didn't let it get the better of him.  Eventually, she grew accustomed to it all and permitted a few smiles in Hades's direction.  She slowly accepted what her life was like and attempted to develop a friendship with Hades, which he was definitely willing to grasp onto fiercely with both hands.  He likely made a few advances that set him back several years, but then Persephone's view changed, altering into fondness, and rather than dreading the Winter months, she maybe even looked forward to them a little.  And then finally, one evening, it just hit her—possibly over something small, like an exasperatedly warm smile sent her way—and she was a little shocked, to say the least.  She didn't do anything just yet, though; she waited.  When she was excited to return to the Underworld the next year, she knew it was something real, and when she found Hades waiting for her, she acted like it was the most natural thing for her to lace her fingers with his, something she had never done before.

"And the rest was history."  His students and Naomi were watching him with rapt attention, and there was an almost collective release of breaths as he finished.  He flashed them all a smile.  "That's all the time we have today.  I will see you on Tuesday.  Have a pleasant evening, and a safe weekend."  They weren't anywhere near as quick to pack up and get out as they normally were, and Castiel felt a slight blush bloom in his face as he distracted himself by packing up his briefcase.

He wasn't sure what made him want to believe in his story, in his view of things.  It was one of the few stories that hadn't ended tragically, and he'd dreamed up a view of what he'd hoped had happened; it just seemed like a sweet and pleasant way to fall in love with someone.

It was the way _he_ wanted to fall in love.

 

* * *

 

The next Thursday evening had Castiel at his normal table at his favorite place.  He returned from putting away his soup bowl and throwing away his cup, and he started to gather his items to leave the café, planning out the route back to his apartment that would lead him by one of his favorite restaurants.  He could call them on his way and order a slice of pie, though he knew it wouldn't be the same.  He _loved_ the pie at Piegatory Café, and he was a little bummed by the fact that a place with "pie" in their name was _out of pie_.

He shoved the last folder (containing quizzes from that afternoon's class) into his briefcase with a little more force than needed, his mood sour once again.

"Dr. Novak?"

The feminine voice had Castiel looking up in surprise, and he found himself smiling at the sight of the familiar red-haired girl who sat at the front of his class.  "Miss Bradbury.  How can I help you?"

Charlie smiled at him, and she shifted something in her hands, causing him to glance down at them distractedly before returning his gaze to her face.

Then he looked down again, and his brows furrowed.  She was holding one of the clear containers that had the Piegatory Café logo on it, and in the container was a slice of pie.  The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, "The cashier said you were out of pie."  When he realized what he'd said, he felt his face flush, and he cleared his throat to apologize, but Charlie didn't let him get that far.

"Oh, we were.  But... one of the chefs overheard the conversation and... made a... cherry pie but wasn't sure if the customer was still around... or who it was.  Was it you?" Charlie answered, her words rushed at random intervals and halting at others. 

Castiel tilted his head slightly, unsure if he believed her, but after a moment of watching her fidget, he nodded.  "I did ask for a slice of cherry pie, so it is probably a safe assumption that he overheard our conversation." 

"Well, um, here!" she exclaimed, thrusting the container towards him.  "You can have this piece.  There's still some left, so I can totally get another piece."

Castiel hesitantly reached out and took the container, feeling extremely confused.  She practically forced it into his hands when she noticed he was actually willing to accept it.  They stood there silently, and he looked down at the container curiously.  "Thank you," he murmured sincerely, gaze flicking back up to her eyes.  "And tell the chef thank you as well."

Charlie nodded a little too enthusiastically.  "Y-yeah, no problem!"

Castiel frowned when she started to retreat.  "Wait, Miss Bradbury, you never said what you needed."

Her eyes were wide, and she looked even more nervous as she blinked a few times.  "Oh!  Um, it's nothing that can't wait.  You'll probably answer it in lecture on Tuesday.  Have a good evening!" Charlie practically tripped over the words, trying to get them out as quickly as she could before she hastily retreated.

Castiel simply stood there puzzled, his gaze settling on the pie.  He had the distinct feeling she might have been lying.  But then again, he'd probably caught her off-guard by saying something about the pie.  If they'd had some in the back still, then it probably wouldn't be good to admit the cashier had been lying about not having any more pie.

With a slight shrug and a smile, he pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of the pie and sent it to Gabriel, along with the words, "The chef supposedly overheard my request for a pie and made one since they were out."  He pocketed his phone and grabbed his briefcase with his free hand, smiling to himself his entire walk home.

When he got into his apartment, he found several texts in response from his brother, and the first one made him chuckle.  _"You assbutt! >:("_

_"What do you mean supposedly?"_

_"I hate when you text me and then start doing something."_

_"You're walking home aren't you?"_

_"Yep, you are."_

Castiel was trying not to grin, and he was about to answer when another gray bubble popped up, followed by several other ones.  _"I sent a text to someone to get info.  You're holding a slice of pie that never should have been made."_

_"I'm jealous."_

_"I'm friends with those bastards."_

_"And none of the chefs would ever do that for me."_

Castiel blinked, staring in surprise at the last message.  "Why?"

The answer was in several bursts.   _"Idk lil bro"_

_"Can't get real answers out of anyone"_

_"You know what I don't even care anymore"_

_"You suck"_

_"Find out yourself"_

A laugh escaped Castiel's lips, and he simply pocketed his phone once more, his gaze settling on the pie in front of him.  Just the thought that one of the chefs had made it for him made something warm spread through his limbs, and when he finally fished a fork out of the silverware drawer and took a bite of the pie, it somehow tasted better than it had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Balthazar Adler was what I chose to come up with, which meant that, yes, I made Zachariah his father. It was impulsive, and I felt like doing it. He and Castiel are cousins because I don't really like the Balthazar/Castiel mention in so many fics. Balthy will definitely show up again, but I'm not sure if it will be all that soon.  
> \-- Naomi Tapping -- Tapping is the last name of Naomi's actress. I actually really like Naomi's character, so she won't be a complete bitch in this or anything. She'll probably have her moments, though, but overall I want her to be likable...  
> \-- I have never taken a mythology course in my life, so Cas's lectures are _probably_ going to be a little random at times, but I am using several course outlines to help me make my choices for what he does. I hope this doesn't bother anyone. [/smiles sheepishly]
> 
> I'm going to be a bit busy come Sunday (since I'll have friends coming to stay because they hate me and want to make me wish I can skip classes) but I will try my best to get the next chapter out within the week. It'll be totally new content, and it's going to Dean's view again, so I cannot make any promises at this second.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and as usual, I'd love to hear any feedback you have! (:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be out sooner, but things didn't go as planned. This chapter literally went the opposite direction I wanted it to, and I tried to herd it back, but it refused. One of my friends told me to just let it go where it wanted, and so this is the outcome. I'm not entirely happy with it, and I deliberated on adding more, but it was easier to cut it off where I did so that the next chapter still falls within the word amount I'd like.
> 
> This is set two days after the last chapter (on Saturday). It's mostly cute, with just a little background information, and it's all new material! Again, this is not beta'd.
> 
>  **Warning:** Mentioned, canon, past character death (near the very end). It's not even really _minor_ characters, but it seemed worth warning, just in case.
> 
> Happy(-ish) reading!

Dean raised a hand to open the flap of the tent belonging to "the Queen of Moondoor," peeking his head inside and calling, "Hey, Charlie, you ready to—"  He stopped mid-sentence when he saw said redhead in the midst of making out with one of the Fairy girls.  The Fae had recently been admitted as one of their LARPing kingdoms, and Dean wasn't entirely familiar with them yet since they rarely bothered the Queen of Moons.  He quirked a brow, a grin quirking his lips as the brunette with curly hair turned to look at him, her face flushed, though she didn't really seem embarrassed at being caught.

"Dude!" Charlie hissed, her eyes widening as she shook her head at him.  "If the tent is rockin', don't come a-knockin'!"

Dean shrugged a shoulder as he entered the tent fully, ignoring the look the redhead sent his way.  "You ever heard of the 'do not disturb' signs?  A pair of shoes would have worked," he commented idly, which only made Charlie scowl even more.  "Look, it's getting late, and we are literally the last three people here.  I haven't eaten since this morning, and I'm starving."

Charlie sighed, but her expression altered to one of sympathy.  "All right, all right.  But if we're the last three people here, that means Gilda needs a ride, too."

Dean chuckled and nodded.  "Yeah, okay.  Change into your civilian gear, and we can go eat.  If you're not out here in ten minutes, I'm storming the tent again," he threatened, pointing his index finger in Charlie's direction.  She flashed him a somewhat grateful smile since that was more time than either of them would need to change, and she knew he knew that.

After he exited the tent, he strolled a little ways off, leaning back against one of the posts set up.  He toed at the ground absently, his subconscious mind working at digging up a rock as he thought over his upcoming week.  He was supposed to spend the next day with Sam, after whatever time they (read: Dean) woke up, but aside from that his week was actually pretty lackluster, as always.  Next Tuesday was Adam's birthday, so he could at least pretend he had a life outside his jobs next week, but that did nothing for him the upcoming week.  Which, honestly, it was normal for him to not have anything to do.

Or, at least, it had been normal the past few months.

Dean wasn't entirely sure what made him wish he had something to do on weeknights—it wasn't like he had much time to actually spend _outside_ of his jobs, considering the café didn't close until nine and opened at seven.  He had to sleep sometime (no matter that he could deal with just four hours) and that really didn't leave him with much time to do anything, except perhaps on the weekends.  And as much as he and the guys liked to talk about possibly getting together once a week, it typically didn't work out and turned into more of a "once a month if we sacrifice a goat to Satan" sort of thing.

A small part inside of Dean nagged at him that he _could_ have something to look forward to if he'd stop being such a coward and talk to a certain blue-eyed man in a trenchcoat.  "Shut up," he grunted aloud, and then he realized he'd just talked back to himself, and he groaned, both his hands scrubbing at his face.  This was utterly ridiculous.  He'd never had a problem just walking up to someone and flirting with them.  Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't.  It wasn't like Castiel would be the first guy, either, so it wasn't that.

The last person he'd ever been this hesitant around was Lisa Braeden, and even then it hadn't been this bad.  Sure, he'd stumbled over his words a bit, and he'd been really awkward about some things _both_ times they'd tried to make their relationship work, but he hadn't felt so painfully shy since the first girl he'd ever fallen in love with.  He chuckled almost disbelievingly when he thought about it; Cassie and Castiel—the two people who made him feel shy _would_ have such insanely similar names.

"Hellooo?  Dean?  What happened to 'I'm starving'?" Charlie's voice, dipping into a (completely awful) mocking version of his voice, drew him from his thoughts.

Dean blinked twice, lifting his head so he wasn't staring at the ground, and shifted his gaze to the two girls standing in front of him.  They both wore slightly concerned expressions, and he made himself scoff at Charlie as he pushed off the post.  "That was an awful impression of my voice," he muttered as he lightly shoved her with his shoulder.

Charlie was thankfully wise enough to not press him like he knew she was dying to do.  "Oh, please, that was spot on, and you know it!" she retorted, and his lips twisted in a wry smile as he led the way back to his car.

 

* * *

 

Because Gilda was the "lady" of their odd trio, they graciously allowed her to choose where they would be eating.

Or, in other words, Charlie gave Dean a look when she told Gilda to choose, and Dean smartly kept his mouth shut.

Gilda ended up choosing a place called Arkhmoor, which—as Dean and Charlie both quickly found out—was a restaurant owned by Gilda's brother Gerry.  Dean was surprised that Charlie was surprised, given that the two seemed rather close and had known each other for a while.  When he sent her a questioning look, she simply shrugged, though she also looked a little disappointed that she hadn't known.

"I just found out that Gerry recently opened the place," Gilda explained quickly when she saw the expression on Charlie's face.  Dean ducked his head to hide his grin.  "He moved out a year and a half ago in a really bad fit, and none of us had heard from him for almost a year.  The other day he called me and told me about this place and asked me to drop by sometime.  I didn't want to go alone, so I figured this way I could get it done."

Dean felt a little awkward, like he was intruding on a moment that should be private, even though this technically involved him, too, since he was being dragged into a place that could end up being awful.  He glanced over his shoulder to see Charlie and Gilda smiling at each other, their hands clasped around each other's.  Dean awkwardly cleared his throat, raising his brows at them.  "Shall we?" he queried, gesturing towards the steps that led up into the building.

Both girls nodded, and Dean led the way up the stairs, pulling on the door handle and holding it open for the two females who didn't seem to be ready to pay him any mind.  He shook his head with a slight smile and followed in behind them, only to stop short at what he saw.  The place was laid out like a tavern—one of the ones you'd see in a video game like Skyrim or something.  And the people walking around were _in costume_.  Quite a bit like the LARPing outfits they used for Moondoor, actually, but this was totally different.  Very few patrons (maybe one table of four) were dressed in modern clothing, and it was very disorienting.

Charlie leaned back while Dean leaned forward, and they both murmured, "Maybe we should have stayed dressed."  They shared a quick grin that dropped when they were approached by a sandy-haired male wearing an odd combination of clothing:  a gray hood and a white long-sleeve shirt with a nearly-knee-length tunic sectioned into four rectangles—white on the top left and bottom right and red on the top right and bottom left—with a gray pouch strapped across his torso, a brown leather belt, brown gloves, gray tights, and black leather boots.  He looked simultaneously ridiculous and awesome.

"Greetings, weary travelers!  I am Boltar the Furious!" the male introduced himself, bowing slightly with one arm extended.  When he straightened, his eyes glanced between the three of them, stopping on Gilda, and his face split into a grin as his voice became exponentially softer and friendlier.  "Gilda, you came!"

The brunette girl nodded, smiling back at... Boltar.  Dean almost snorted as his mind supplied the name.  "Of course I came, Gerry.  This is Charlie Bradbury and her friend, Dean Winchester."

Dean was slightly startled that the girl knew his last name, but he wrote it off as normal, given how close she and Charlie were.  "Hey," he greeted with a friendly smile when Gerry's gaze flicked to him.  When it lingered for just a second too long, Dean nearly quirked a brow, but the sandy-haired male looked away just quickly enough, causing Dean to raise a hand to his mouth to hide his grin.

"Are you planning to dine with us this evening?" Gerry asked in his "Boltar" voice, obviously back in his persona.  Gilda simply nodded in response.  "If you will, follow me."  He didn't even look over his shoulder to insure they were following him, and Gilda (after a slight hesitation) did as he'd said.

Charlie and Dean exchanged a glance before they, too, followed after the siblings.  They were used to LARPing; the evening couldn't really get _too_ weird or awkward.

 

* * *

 

Dean quickly figured out _that_ was stupid thinking.

Gerry (or should he call him Boltar?) ended up waiting on them, and Dean was in the midst of trying to decipher if the guy was flirting with him or not—because, really, the dude was sending all sorts of mixed signals—when Gilda apologized for her brother's actions.

Charlie flapped a hand at the curly-haired brunette, grinning.  "Don't worry about him.  He doesn't really mind."

Dean snorted and contradicted, "The random insults are getting old."

Gilda winced before smiling hesitantly.  "I think Gerry finds himself a little unsure around you.  When he's Gerry, it doesn't bother him, but as Boltar, it would be out of character for him to flirt.  He is sincerely attempting to be Boltar as our waiter."  Her smile turned a little fond but sad.  "That much has not changed, at least.  He was working on Boltar's character before he moved out, and at times it got out of hand because we didn't always know which male we were speaking with."

"Huh."  Dean frowned slightly as he glanced at their waiter (who was across the room speaking to the bartender) before looking back to Gilda.  "I can imagine it causing some problems," he agreed quietly.  It wasn't the best consolation, but it was about as much as he could offer her.

Charlie lightly bumped shoulders with the curly-haired brunette, and the two shared a warm look that caused Dean to look away from them with a smile playing at his lips.  "So, Dean," Charlie suddenly spoke, causing him to shift his gaze to her.  "Are you ever going to stop acting like a cowardly lion, or will we have more days like Thursday?"

Dean frowned, sitting forward a little to frame his hands around his glass, absently rubbing his thumbs over the beads of condensation.

"What happened Thursday?" Gilda queried, and when Charlie's expression shifted into a grin, Dean nearly groaned in frustration.  Of course she'd brought it up in front of her girlfriend.  Anything to make this situation ten times more embarrassing for him.

"I've told you that Dean and I both work at Piegatory Café, right?" the redhead asked, and Gilda nodded.

Dean grumbled, "A job I'm regretting helping you get."

Charlie shot him a look before continuing, "Dean's their pastry chef, for the most part.  In the mornings Benny Lafitte, the café's owner, will help out, but typically all the pastries are made by Dean."  She paused before adding, "Particularly the pies."

"Oh, _really_?" Gilda looked excited as she turned her attention to Dean for a moment.  "I _love_ the blueberry pie you make!"

Dean felt a blush rise unbidden up his neck and into his face.  "I'm, uh, glad you like it," he murmured, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.

"Anyway," Charlie interjected, drawing Gilda's attention back to her and making Dean stifle a snicker. "Thursday evening we were out of pie.  Benny's rules, since we have so many other pastries, are to not make more pies after a certain hour.  Dean overheard a customer getting a little upset about the lack of pie, and he decided to make one."  Gilda's expression shifted to one of surprised confusion, and Charlie only grinned wider.  "When the time came to give that customer a slice of pie, however, he'd started to freak out because he didn't know how to do it."

Dean felt his face flush even more, and it didn't help when Gilda questioned, "Is the customer special or something?"

Charlie nodded.  "Mhm.  Dean has quite the crush on him, actually."

The brunette girl blinked, her lips parting on an, "Oh!"  She looked between Dean and Charlie, her excitement barely hidden.  "So...?" she prompted.  "How is that 'cowardly lion' material?"

"I came to get my paycheck from Benny, and I arrived in the midst of Dean's freak-out.  Dean gave me the extremely shortened version of the story, and he basically begged me to take the slice of pie to the customer, since he claimed it would seem less weird for me to walk up to the guy than it would be for Dean," Charlie explained.

Gilda quirked a brow, looking confused again.  Dean sincerely wished he could disappear into the floor; this was more than a little mortifying to hear repeated aloud.

"I don't understand," the curly-haired brunette admitted.  "Why would you be the better option?"

Charlie's answering grin was about as smug and mischievous as it could be.  " _That_ is a great question, the answer to which is that I, unlike Dean, have spoken to Dr. Novak twice a week for the past six weeks."

Gilda gaped at Charlie for a moment before her eyes shot to Dean, who felt heat steadily spreading to his ears now.  "So...  you have a crush on...  Dr. Novak," Gilda stated, as if she were testing the words.  She tilted her head slightly, her eyes trained on him intensely.  Dean shifted awkwardly, glancing at Charlie curiously before looking back at Gilda, whose expression shifted into a bright smile.  "Oh, that would be really cute," she cooed.  "So you made him a pie?"

Dean smiled a little shyly, clearing his throat.  "Uh, yeah.  I did."

"Dr. Novak apparently really likes the cherry pie Dean makes," Charlie added.  "Gabriel wouldn't tell us exactly what he said, but it was supposedly a very obvious indicator."

Gilda nodded in understanding.  "That's really adorable, Dean, and so romantic.  Why haven't you asked him out?"

The brunette male groaned, not really needing _another_ person to pester him over all of it.  Gilda watched him curiously, waiting, and he finally gave in, mumbling, "It's complicated."

"Which really means he's afraid to ask," Charlie translated oh-so-helpfully.

Dean grumbled, staring down at his glass of Coke.  "I want to get to know him, but I'm not sure he'll agree to a date.  He's always at the café during the week, and the people who come with him are rather obviously not people he's interested in.  Not everyone goes on dates just on the weekend, so I'd say it's a safe bet that he's either taken and the person doesn't live here, _or_ he isn't looking to date anyone," Dean concluded, shrugging a shoulder.

"I don't think—" Gilda started to speak when Gerry/Boltar came back up to their table with their food.

"All right, double-bacon cheeseburger with onion rings," the waiter announced, settling the plate down in front of Dean with a slight flourish.  "Another double-bacon cheeseburger with french fries," he continued, placing that plate in front of Charlie.  "And a chicken Caesar salad wrap," he finished, sliding the plate into place in front of Gilda.  "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Some ketchup and mustard?" Charlie suggested, and Gerry/Boltar nodded, looking between Dean and Gilda.

"I'm good, man, thanks," Dean replied, and Gilda smiled and shook her head.

Gerry/Boltar walked off after saying, "I'll be right back."

"I still don't see why this place serves modern food like this—or why they call it something modern.  If nothing else, they should use different names, you know?  Kinda defeats the purpose otherwise," Dean murmured, picking up his burger.  He had a moment's hesitation before biting into it, and then he moaned as the juice from the patty filled his mouth, followed by the other items on the burger.  "Oh my god, I don't care what they call it.  This is _fantastic_."

Charlie took a bite of hers and had much the same reaction.  "You're _right_ ; it _is_."

Gerry/Boltar returned at that moment with a smile on his face as he set down the ketchup and mustard.  "I trust the food is to your liking."

Dean was in the midst of practically inhaling his burger, so he could only nod and give a thumbs up in reply.

Gerry/Boltar grinned and lightly tapped on the tabletop before walking away once more.

Gilda cleared her throat, causing Dean's gaze to jump to her.  She was holding her wrap in her hands, only one bite currently taken out of it.  "As I was saying, I don't think he's taken, but you don't have to ask him on a date to talk to him.  Actually, you don't even have to speak to have some sort of correspondence with him."

Dean swallowed the bite of burger in his mouth and licked his lips, briefly distracted by Gilda's words.  "What do you mean?"

"Well," Gilda hedged, hesitating for a moment as if unsure of how he would take her suggestion.  "One of the second most common ways of communication is... written.  Writing letters, passing notes, that sort of thing."

Charlie's gasp and breathy exclamation of, "Oh, sweet Merlin!" only served to make Dean put down his burger, his confused disbelief making him a little irate.

"So you're telling me... to write him a _note_?  What do I even _say_?  'Hi, I work at Piegatory Café and made you a pie because you wanted it, but I'm too much of a wuss to talk to you in person'?  Call me crazy, but I don't think that's going to work in my favor," Dean snorted.

Charlie scoffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.  "Of course not, Dean.  Don't be stupid."  Dean opened his mouth to make a retort when she held her hand up.  "Don't talk; keep your mouth shut.  This is actually a _fantastic_ idea!  He's always at the café during the week, and since Becky always works the night shift, you can give her the note you want to give to him whichever evening, and she can put it with his food."

Gilda wasn't even paying attention to her food anymore, and her face was alight with excitement.  "And you can make him sweets, too!  Put them to-go or something and tape the notes on the lids!"

"Oh, yes, that would be so cute!  Little notes about why you made which treat, what the significance of each treat is."  Charlie looked more animated about this than Dean had seen her in almost the entire time he'd known her.  He hated having to put a stop to that.

"Will you two stop talking for just one minute?" he interrupted before either girl could continue.  They both frowned at him but kept quiet.  "Look, that's all fine and dandy in the fantasy world or whatever, but there's no telling that this will even _work_.  One-sided notes are not communication, and I don't really know enough about this guy to make him treats of significance."

That gave both girls pause, and Dean picked up an onion ring and bit into it somewhat triumphantly (even though he had gotten his hopes up so it was a bitter win).  But then Gilda turned to Charlie and stated, "We're in his class, though."

Charlie's eyes widened slightly, and she grinned brightly before giving Gilda a short, hard kiss.  "You're a genius," she breathed to the stunned, blushing girl before shifting her gaze onto Dean.  "Sometimes he'll speak about himself during lectures, if it's something he really likes.  Until he says something that you feel all right with commenting on, we can simply brainstorm ideas for pastries that fit the theme of his lectures, just to get him used to the idea of having a pastry given to him with his evening meals.  We can do it on set days, too, like...  Wednesday and Friday.  I can text you the deets of the lecture after it's over, and it'll give you that evening to make whatever you want to make or to decide what you want to make the next day."

Dean mulled that over as he chewed on another onion ring, and both girls allowed him to think in silence, turning their attentions to their plates of food.  They passed the rest of their meal in almost complete silence, only breaking it whenever Gerry/Boltar came up to check on them.

It was when they were waiting on him to bring out the check that Dean finally spoke.  "All right, we can try it.  But if it doesn't work, then I'm allowed to stop it without you two getting angry about it."

Charlie and Gilda both nodded, grins on their faces.  "Deal," Charlie agreed, holding out her hand.  Dean chuckled and shook it, shaking his head.  Of all the strange things he'd done in his life, this would probably take the cake.

 

* * *

 

It was rather late (nearing about one) by the time Dean had dropped off Gilda at her home.  Gerry—and it _had_ been Gerry for sure because the guy had been way too kind to not be—had come by their table and talked to them for a little bit, catching up with his little sister before asking about the restaurant and what they'd thought of the place.  Dean and Charlie had both made the suggestion of altering the food names to reflect the style of the restaurant, and Gerry had admitted that he'd thought of doing such a thing but had a difficult time coming up with names.  Charlie had offered to write down some ideas if he'd let her borrow a menu, and he'd readily agreed to it.

Said redhead was currently in the front passenger seat, fiddling with said menu.  Dean knew she was nervous about something, though he couldn't tell what it was.  When her foot started tapping, however, he decided it didn't matter.

"What's up?" he asked, chancing a glance at her.

Charlie looked at him just a touch too quickly for it to be normal.  "Uh, what?  N-nothing."

Dean gave her as long a look as he felt safe doing.  "Come on, Charlie, I know better.  You want to say or ask something, or you wouldn't be fidgeting like you are.  What's wrong?"

"Nothing's really _wrong_.  I just..." Charlie trailed off, and another glance at her showed she was biting down on her lower lip, staring down at her lap.  Dean didn't press her because that was her way of working up to it.  "Today would have been my mom's birthday," she finally answered quietly, her voice slightly thick.

That answer was almost like a punch to his gut.  He knew that feeling, and for her it was still fresh, even if her mother had technically died several years ago.  Charlie had only accepted that she needed to let go of her mother a couple months ago, though, and he knew there was a small part of her that still blamed herself for her mother's (and her father's) death.  Her mother had been on life support for quite some time, and it had taken a lot of discussion and past-sharing for Dean to convince her of what she needed to do.

"Sounds a bit like something's wrong to me," Dean commented softly, but not unkindly.  "I'm assuming you mean today, as in Sunday?"  He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye, and he found himself nodding along with her.  "Okay, then.  You're coming home with me.  I'm pretty sure you have some clean clothes in the guest room."

Charlie's protest was quick but half-hearted, "No, Dean.  You're spending time with Sam later, and—"

"Sam won't care if you come along, Charlie.  Hell, you're like the little sister we never wanted.  This isn't up for discussion.  You'll need a distraction, and we're gonna give you one, all right?" Dean queried, looking over at her.  She sniffed slightly but nodded again, a weak smile playing at her lips.

When, a few minutes later, he pulled into his designated parking space for his apartment, he didn't really give her a chance to get out of the car.  He slid across the seat and pulled her into his arms, and she came willingly, pressing her face tightly to his sternum.  He smoothed a hand over her hair, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head.  He didn't murmur any nonsensical words because she didn't need—or want—them.

They stayed there, in the front seat of the Impala, for quite some time, Dean holding the younger girl tightly until her shaking stopped and her hands loosened their clutch on his shirt.  And when Charlie raised her head, her face tracked with tears, they didn't have to share any words.  They simply got out of the car, Charlie following closely behind Dean as they made their way to his apartment.

It was only when she was about to enter the guest room that she turned around and looked up at him, smiling sadly.  "I love you."

His lips quirked into their own sort of sad smile, and he answered in the only way she could deal with it.  "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- For some reason I really liked Gerry's character, and I don't know why I had him vaguely flirting with Dean; it just kind of happened. He is _not_ going to go crazy, even though it's canon. He will have a slight difficulty noticing the difference in reality and fantasy, but I plan on having Gilda and a couple others help him through that (though not entirely on-screen).  
>  \-- Arkhmoor, the name of the restaurant, is taken from the name of the place Gilda hails from. (I think the wiki says "The Hollow Forest of Avalon" or something, but in the show she says Arkhmoor, so Arkhmoor is what I chose.)  
> \-- On the same sort of note above, I've seen Moondoor spelled "Moondoor" and "Moondor." In the show, there are a couple of instances where you can see the name of the place, and it is spelled "Moondoor," so I went with that spelling rather than the other sources.  
> \-- Took some phrases from the actual show because of reasons (and a fierce need since I hadn't gotten the chance to do it yet, so more should be coming at some point).
> 
> Like I said, the chapter went a little astray, and this ending was not meant to be the ending (and was also a little too abrupt). I made my own self sad, and I'm sorry if I made anyone else feel that way.
> 
> The next chapter will still be in Dean's view and is likely going to cover Sunday and then the next couple of weeks where Dean makes treats for Cas before he finally gets the information he needs to get him to write his first note! I'm not sure when it will be out, but I will try my best to have it done by Thursday (since my family vacation starts on Friday).
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for reading! Any feedback is absolutely appreciated! (:


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after some serious issues with the beginning of this chapter, I just kind of let it go where it wanted. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but things happen, yanno?
> 
> And _yes_ I somehow got this out today, due to a mixture of things. I had the unbroken free time to get in the writing zone and stay in it, and then I was having loads of fun trying to come up with ideas for Dean's treats to Castiel. I'm a _little_ proud of them. (; But I think one of my major motivators were the comments I got, like wow! Talk about inflating a girl's ego. I'm so glad to hear people are enjoying this that much! It really makes my day, so thank you guys!
> 
> So this chapter is entirely new stuff; I hope it's well-received. There's a reason I chose the scenes I did for Sunday.
> 
>  **Warning** : Mentioned, past, canon character death and mention of past suicidal tendencies. Charlie's parents' death is brought up again, which is where the mentioned suicidal tendencies comes in. If that's a trigger, skip down a little bit until you see Dean and Charlie talking.
> 
> I think that's it for now! Happy reading, lovelies!

Dean woke with a grunt from a dream of flashing blue eyes, gummy smiles, messy dark hair, and a deep gravelly voice.  He was a sweaty mess and still half asleep as he stumbled out of bed, and he grimaced at the feel of still-wet cloth rubbing against him.  It had been a while since he'd gotten off while asleep, so the feeling was more than a little uncomfortable.  The fact that he couldn't remember much of the dream—minus the fact that Castiel played a star role in it—only made it worse.

A shower and a change of clothes later, Dean emerged from his room, cell phone in hand as he walked down the hall to the living room.  Light was filtering in through the window on the opposite edge of the room, broken only by the slats of the blinds.  His living room was mostly made up of mix-and-match furniture that _somehow_ worked together; he wasn't entirely sure how Jo and Ellen had pulled it off.  The couch and loveseat were light brown (supposedly eco-friendly) cloth, and the armchair they had chosen was a dark red, leather, with dark brown legs.  His coffee table was entirely wooden, and mostly dark brown with a reddish tint to it.  He had one "end table" to the left of the couch, made of a dark brown wood with a glass top, and there was a dark brown cubby-type shelf unit sitting on the floor against the wall directly across from the couch, above which a flat screen television was mounted—the only thing in the room he'd actually splurged on.  The cubbies held his Xbox 360 _and_ his PS3 (because Charlie had insisted he have both), as well as a Wii (courtesy of Sam) and a Blu-Ray player.  They also, of course, held his DVD's and his games, because without all of that the consoles would be useless.

On top of the cubby-type shelf unit sat several photos of his family—both biological and surrogate.  The one in the middle was the oldest, featuring a barely one-month-old Sam, a four-year-old Dean, and both their parents.  One of the photos was just of his brother Sam graduating from Stanford.  A couple of Dean's favorites were a picture of him, Sam, and Bobby at Thanksgiving and a picture of him and Sam showing off the newly-restored Impala.  Jo and Ellen were in one of the photos; there was a photo of Dean, Sam, Chuck, Henriksen, Ash, and Adam; another photo was of Gabriel and Benny.  He hoped to add a photo of all of them together at some point—maybe he could get it done at Christmas.

Dean shook his head and passed through the living room into the kitchen, which was probably the main room in his apartment that he was proud of.  It was definitely the room he'd spent the most money on.  There were a few dark alder wooden barstools with dark brown seat cushions situated at the bar, which was about all the formal seating he had to offer (since people typically just chose to sit wherever they fancied when there were a lot of them).  He had all stainless steel appliances (for consistency)—one of which was a double oven that he'd had to fight for tooth-and-nail.  The cabinets were stained dark alder, and the counters were granite that were speckled different shades of browns, blacks, and greens.  He had a coffee maker set up in one corner, next to his electronic mixer, and beside that were the cookbooks he utilized most often or cherished.

Now that he'd made it to his destination, he glanced down at his phone, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it and read Sam's answering text about Charlie (that Dean had sent before crashing in his bed the prior evening).  As he'd expected, Sam was absolutely on board with letting their surrogate little sister spend the day with them, and Dean found himself smiling.  It had been a while since all three of them had hung out together, so he was really looking forward to their outing.

Setting his phone aside—he'd answer Sam after Charlie was up—Dean bent down to open one cabinet door and rifle through it for two frying pans.  He found the ones he was looking for and set them on the stovetop before walking to the fridge and pulling out eggs, bacon, and a tub of butter.

He allowed his mind to wander just a little bit as he made the bacon and eggs in a long-practiced way.  He was less distracted while making the bacon, of course, because the last thing he wanted was to be burnt by popping grease, but he was more than a little concerned about Charlie.  She had taken her mother's death insanely hard, even though it really couldn't be considered her fault.

Charlie's mother and father had gone to pick her up from a friend's sleepover party because she had gotten scared.  In the process they'd gotten into a wreck, and her father was dead before the ambulance had arrived.  Her mother had needed surgery and had never woken up from it.  To be honest, Dean wasn't sure how the woman had been allowed to _stay_ on life support for so long.  He knew Charlie had been far too intelligent for her own good and had done quite a few illegal things, so it probably wasn't as far-fetched as he though for her mother to be kept on life support for so long, but a small part of him wondered if it wouldn't have been better for her mother to be taken off life support a lot earlier in Charlie's life.

The good news was that at least Charlie had found them (him and Sam) before such a decision had to be made.  There had been moments during that first month where Dean had been concerned she was borderline suicidal, and he had kept a close eye on her.  That was probably a major reason why they were so close now.  He had shared things with her that he hadn't shared with almost anyone because he knew she _needed_ to hear them.

And that was what had concerned him most of all.  This bright, talented young woman had needed someone like _him_ to show her that she was loved and that the tragedy of what had happened to her parents was not her fault in the least.  It still made him ache to think about it, and he knew today would be a risky day—so he wanted to make it as good as he could for her.

Dean emerged from his thoughts in time to set both pans on the back row of eyes so the bacon and eggs were still in a warm pan but weren't cooking over a medium burner; his hand made quick work of turning the front eyes off before he bent down to pull out a toaster.  He set it on the counter before nabbing the bread from the bread cabinet and quickly popping two slices into the toaster.  He pulled out two more slices and set them on the counter before closing the bread back up in the cabinet.

A couple of minutes later he was walking out of the kitchen with a tray containing two plated bacon-egg-end-mayo sandwiches and two glasses of chocolate milk.  He retreated back through the living room and down the hallway to the guest room where Charlie was currently sleeping.

The guest bedroom wasn't furnished too grandly, but the furniture was at least a _set_.  The bed, nightstand, and entertainment center were all a dark brown wood.  The bed had white sheets and a beige coverlet that matched the beige lampshade of the silver lamp perched on the nightstand.  The television was a silver flat screen, sitting on top of the entertainment center, which held one of those DVD-players-slash-VCR's settled in one of the cubbies.  There wasn't a dresser or a chest of drawers, but the closet was a decent enough size to hold a fair amount of clothes.  Should the need ever arise for more clothing storage, however, Dean could buy it and it still fit in the room without being too crowded.

As Dean had expected, Charlie was basically dead to the world, twisted up in the covers with her red locks going every which way.  He chuckled to himself as he took a few steps into the room, setting the tray on the nightstand.  He took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached down to push her hair out of her face.  "Charlie, wake up.  I've brought you some breakfast," he cajoled softly as she stirred a little, making a pitiful noise that had him chuckling again.  "Come on, Charlie.  I brought a bacon-egg-and-mayo sandwich and a glass of chocolate milk for you."  He paused before adding, "Though with how late it is, I guess this is more elevenses than either a first or second breakfast."

"The first meal is just called 'breakfast,' Dean," Charlie muttered, her eyes still closed.  "And that's too filling for an elevenses meal.  It's kind of like an afternoon tea, just... in the morning."

Dean snorted and ruffled her hair.  "Okay, Miss Know-It-All.  Care to sit up and eat the food I slaved over for you?"

Charlie opened one eye and turned her head to look at the nightstand.  "You made food for yourself, too, so you can't say you slaved over it for just me.  Or slaved over it at all, really.  It took, max, fifteen minutes," she retorted, her voice laced with amusement as she started pushing herself up into a sitting position.  "I can't remember the last time I had breakfast in bed."

Dean chuckled softly as he picked up one of the plates and handed it to her.  "I doubt I ever had breakfast in bed," he mused aloud as he picked up the other plate.  "So this will just have to count, I guess."  He shrugged lightly as he scooped up his sandwich and took a bite of it, pleased that it was still a teensy bit warm, though it was mostly cold.  "After you're done, you should take a shower, and I'll call Sam, plan out what all the three of us are doing today."

Charlie stopped in mid-bite, lifting her head a bit.  "I still feel bad intruding—"

"Charlie, it's okay.  Really.  Sam is perfectly fine with it.  Besides, it's been way too long since all three of us have spent time together.  We'll be like the...  _Harry Potter_ trio.  Glasses, Ginger, and... Genius," he muttered, rather proud of himself for coming up with three words to describe the characters succinctly since he didn't _quite_ recall their names.

The redhead was not as proud.  "Oh, come on, Dean, how do you not know their names?"

"You have me confused with Sam.  He's the one that likes that crap," Dean answered, biting into his sandwich pointedly.

Charlie frowned and shook her head, picking up a glass of chocolate milk and taking a sip.  "One of these days you're going to watch them.  And you're going to love them," she vowed, causing Dean to snort and inhale part of his sandwich, resulting in a beautiful coughing fit that caused Charlie to outright laugh.

And that was all okay, because laughter was a far better alternative on a day like today.

 

* * *

 

"What's up, bitch?" Charlie greeted Sam as she opened her arms to receive a hug.

Sam laughed slightly, pulling her to him tightly.  "Hey, Charlie," he replied warmly, squeezing her once before releasing her.  "You know, if I didn't know you also called Dean 'bitch,' I would think you were hanging around each other too much."

Dean and Charlie both glanced at each other before grinning and stating simultaneously, "We are."

Sam smiled patiently, shaking his head as he shoved his hands in his pockets.  "Okay, so, we have a little bit of time to kill.  Is there anything you want to do?"

"Actually," Charlie answered, her gaze steady as she looked up at the younger brother, "there is _something_.  I don't see you very often, and Dean is nowhere near useful enough for the Sam Wiki, so what's been going on with you?  How's work?"

Sam took a hesitant breath that caused Dean to furrow his brows in concern.  That usually meant something bad.  "Sam?" he prompted when it seemed like his little brother wasn't going to answer.

"Can we—?" Sam made a vague gesture to a bench nearby, and Dean and Charlie both nodded, following behind him.  He was the only one who sat, the other two too concerned to manage sitting at that moment.  Sam released a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair, and he suddenly looked tired.  "There's a...  case I've been helping out with recently.  I haven't been given much information about it, just that it was something that happened here.  I've been working with a cop who found some evidence that might prove a guy's innocence.  She thinks the wrong guy was put behind bars, and she found enough discrepancies in the case files to get clearance to dig into it more.  I got assigned to help her get hold of any documents she needs, to appeal to the judge to get her access to pieces of evidence, and other things.  The case sounds really familiar, and it's just been bugging me because I feel like I'm missing the one piece that would complete the picture, you know?"

Dean frowned slightly; it was a little weird that they'd dragged Sam into such a thing, but given that the evidence mounted against the original case was rather circumstantial, it probably wasn't considered important enough to give to his superiors.

"What's the cop's name?" Charlie questioned suddenly, and Dean's lips almost twitched from a frown into a smile.  He wouldn't put it past the girl to hack into any database for information.

Sam furrowed his brows in thought.  "Uh, Agent Cassidy?  That's her last name.  I don't really remember her first name, but she's got, uh, dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes.  Does that help?"  Obviously, Sam had an inkling of what Charlie's intentions were, as well.

The redhead nodded thoughtfully, one hand perched on her hip. 

"So if you don't know much of anything about the case, how are you supposed to be of help?" Dean queried, looking down at his brother.

Sam chuckled bitterly.  "Honestly, I think they're hoping her investigation brings up nothing new, so they don't want me wasting too much time on it.  I'm mainly just exhausted because I'm still expected to do all my normal workload _and_ cater to this cop at the same time.  It's not been easy."

The note in Sam's voice made worry wrench Dean's stomach.  "Maybe you should see if you can get any vacation time in the upcoming weeks.  It sounds like you need it."

"Dean's right.  You look kind of... awful."  Charlie was rather well-known for being bluntly honest.

Sam's lips twitched into a wry smile, and he nodded.  "I'll see about it.  At this point, my next vacation is in about ten weeks."

Dean counted it up quickly.  "That's Thanksgiving," he stated flatly.  "You need time off before then, Sam.  Put in a leave request.  You get three weeks of vacation, right?  You've only taken off about—what, a week and a half?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed.  "Look, I'll see if any dates are available, okay?  And if what they say is true, Agent Cassidy will be gone soon, and I'll be back to my normal workload.  I know what I can handle.  Don't worry about it."

Dean wanted to say more on the subject, but he knew Sam wouldn't say anything more on it, so he kept his mouth shut about it and made himself a mental note to contact Henriksen in the next couple of days.  Maybe he'd know something about it.  All Dean knew was that if it kept up, there was no way he'd stop worrying about his brother.

 

* * *

 

_"The lecture today was rather by-the-book, which is a little disappointing.  I wish we'd come up with this idea sooner.  We're still discussing the Greeks, which isn't all that surprising.  Our major discussions were over Aphrodite and Artemis.  Gilda and I were thinking you should stray from the Aphrodite theme because there's a lot of infidelity crap going on there.  Artemis is good, though.  You could do lots of things with her, but it might be easier to stick with making some cookies or something.  Her symbols:  bow, arrow, stag, hunting dog, and moon.  Or, if you want to be slightly obscure about it, you could do something about Orion, like his constellation."_

Dean groaned and briefly allowed his head to fall against his kitchen counter.  Charlie had sent him this massive text while he was still at work, and he'd only had a chance to glance at it before deciding it would have to wait until he got home.  Jeez, the girl could write a short essay in what was supposed to be a short, effective way of communication.

He sighed as he typed out a short reply, "Give me a couple minutes.  Gonna google them both."

A couple of minutes turned into about half an hour, even with him just skimming through websites.  Charlie had said to stray from Aphrodite-related products, but...  The golden apple was something that stuck with him, and he knew they had the ingredients to make Mila Psita sto Fourno (which was sort of a Greek recipe for baked stuffed apples).  The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded since it _was_ a treat, and it could convey an idea if Castiel understood the reference.

He picked up his phone to text Charlie and rolled his eyes at the sight of a few texts from her.

_"It's been a couple of minutes.  Gilda's getting just as impatient as I am.  We both want to know what you're planning on making for your bae."_

_"Dean, how hard is it to skim over a Wiki page?  Or if you really dislike Wiki, then one of the plethora of Mythology websites?  Like seriously."_

_"Dude, not cool.  This is taking forever.  You could have at least picked up your phone to say you were still looking.  If you send me a text, you better have an idea of what you want to make, and it better be convincing, or I will jump off this ship so fast."_

Dean really had no clue why Charlie thought it was impossible to send a one-sentence text.  Hell, he'd even take _two_ sentences, if they were simple sentences.  And where did she come up with some of these things—"bae" and "jump off this ship"?  Was she really using fandom terms for _real life_?

"Bae?" was the first thing he sent back because it deserved its own text.  He then proceeded to tell her his idea.  "I was thinking of making mila psita sto fourno which is s'posedly a Greek recipe for baked stuffed apples.  My reason is the golden apple."  He really hoped she grasped his meaning because he _really_ didn't want to explain any further than that.

He got his answer barely a minute later.  _"Yes, I'm calling him your bae.  Just deal with it for now.  And oh sweET MERLIN!  DEAN!  You are such a sap, and that is so cute and perfect!  You have to do it!  You HAVE to!"_

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he felt heat creep up the back of his neck and into his ears.  "Are the random caps necessary?  I was planning on doing it without your consent, anyway.  And I'm not a sap."  He sent the text before he could think better about commenting on the "sap" detail.  He was only denying it because he really wasn't; this one instance didn't change that, and he didn't think it was _that_ sappy.

_"With what you just sent me, you were lucky that entire message wasn't in caps.  You should have known I would be all for that, but my telling you that you have to do it is more of an order than anything, so make sure that you do go through with this plan.  Haha; ohh, Dean.  You are SO a sap.  Just accept it."_

He didn't even get the opportunity to attempt to reply to that text when another one buzzed in.  _"I work tomorrow, so you don't have to talk to Becky alone.  Speaking of work, I'm going to get some shut eye after I call Gilda.  Peace out, bitch!"_

Dean shook his head with a wry smile, shooting back a quick, "Night, sweet dreams." before he pushed himself up from the bar and started digging through his kitchen in search of something quick he could make for dinner.

 

* * *

 

"You know the guy that wears a trenchcoat every day?  Has messy hair and really blue eyes?" Charlie asked the girl with light brown hair and blonde highlights.

She seemed a little distracted by Dean's presence, but she smiled brightly, showing off braces, and nodded.  "Of course!  He's so..." she trailed off but exhaled in a way that _definitely_ got her point across.  Dean had a difficult time keeping a smile pasted on his face, and he was pretty sure it was strained.

Charlie seemed to be just as weirded out by it.  "Right," she answered a little haltingly, nodding slowly.  "Anyway, Dean here," she paused to clap him on the arm, "is going to be making some treats for him every Wednesday and Friday.  He'll give them to you in a to-go bag, and all you have to do is give it to the guy—to Castiel—at his evening meal.  Are you cool with that, Becky?"

Becky seemed to be just a little confused by the statement, and she turned her calculating gaze on Dean.  It was just _a bit_ creepy, and he had to keep himself from taking a step back just on principle, though that didn't keep him from blushing awkwardly.  Becky's expression shifted into a wide grin, and she giggled.  "Oh, I knew it!  I was wondering how long it would take you to make a move on BET guy, and some of the others thought you never would, but I never doubted you for a second, and now you're doing it through _sweets_ , and that is just so cute!"  Becky shifted her gaze to Charlie before continuing, "You said his name was Castiel, right?!  Maybe we should come up with a ship name for them!  Like...  Castean!  No, that doesn't have the right ring to it.  Maybe Deanstiel?  No, still not it..."  She trailed off for only a moment, her face darkened just a bit in disappointment at how hard it was to come up with—whatever-the-hell she'd called it.  A "ship name"?  She gasped, her eyes going wide, and this time Dean _did_ take a step back, even if she wasn't looking at him.  " _Destiel_!"

And Dean wanted to be done with this conversation, oh... yesterday.  Yesterday would have been good.  Because of all reactions he'd expected, it hadn't been _this_ , and he most certainly did not expect Charlie's response.

"Oh sweet Merlin, yes!  Destiel is about as perfect as Spirk!" Charlie exclaimed, and _that_ was Dean's cue to leave.

He cleared his throat and held out the to-go bag containing one of the baked stuffed apples he'd made (and if it happened to be the one he thought turned out the prettiest, it was only his business).  "I, uh, need to get back to work, so...  Yeah."  Becky was grinning in a way that said she knew he wasn't being honest, but she took the bag anyway.  "You two ladies have fun discussing your...  ships or whatever."  And without waiting even a second longer, he quickly darted back into the safety of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Thursday evening had another text from Charlie, this one not as long-winded as the first had been.  It seemed maybe she trusted him to look up the information himself and make a decision based off that.  That thought shouldn't make him feel as proud as it did.

_"Our main topics this evening were Apollo and Dionysus, which could pose a problem.  There are no golden apple sorts of stories, and Apollo was kind of a dick.  Dionysus was a nice enough guy in most the stories, but even he has his moments.  You'll understand when you look them both up.  If you need me to, I can tell you about some of the past lectures, and you can think up something from them."_

Dean admitted he was a little concerned at the words, but he didn't let it deter him.  With a quiet sigh, he nabbed his laptop and seated himself at the bar once more.  Charlie was right; the stories about Apollo and Dionysus were definitely not as easy to utilize, and one of the few myths he found on Dionysus was a little risqué, involving an olive-branch-turned-phallus-shaped and Prosymnus's tomb in order to reward Prosymnus.  Now _that_ was an image, but it seemed to be just a tiny bit lacking compared to a golden apple.

And then he found what he was looking for.  Ampelos, a satyr who was loved by Dionysus, had died and been transformed into a vine for his "second life," and Dionysus squeezed his first wine from it.  That was definitely more romantic than the story about Prosymnus, even if it was bittersweet.  A quick Google search of "Greek grape desserts" brought up something that wouldn't be too difficult to make, and Dean grinned to himself.

It had taken about an hour this time, but he had _something_ , which was far better than nothing.  He quickly sent a text to Charlie.  "What about moustalevria, a grape must pudding?  My reasoning is Ampelos."

Knowing it would take Charlie a couple of minutes to answer, he slid from his seat and set about making himself dinner, only pausing in his pursuit when his phone buzzed a few minutes later.

_"Once again, you surprise me, Dean Winchester.  It's not quite as obviously romantic or sappy as a golden apple, but since it technically conveys a deeper meaning, you're still living up to your sappy self.  Now finish eating your dinner and get some sleep.  You've been looking exhausted, and I know it's because you're fretting over Sam.  He'll be fine; trust Henriksen."_

A wry smile twisted his lips, and Dean shook his head.  Sometimes he wondered how she knew his habits so well; it tended to be borderline concerning.  His reply was short and to the point since he really didn't want to discuss that.  "Goodnight."

He knew Charlie hadn't looked up the recipe, or she would know he couldn't go to sleep just yet.  He'd have to make a grocery store run since the must had to sit overnight after boiling.  But first, he was going to finish his dinner.  He could do that much for the girl.

 

* * *

 

The following Tuesday resulted in Dean being exhausted and _maybe_ a little buzzed.  He had been allowed off work early, and they had gone out to celebrate Adam's birthday before returning to his apartment where Henriksen would allow the kid to drink since he still wasn't of age.  Their usual group was currently taking turns playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and Dean figured it was probably for the best if he tried to figure out what he'd be making Castiel before getting too tipsy.  He wrestled his phone out of his pocket as he took a seat at the bar, his laptop set up in front of him.

_"We almost had a repeat of a couple weeks ago.  We discussed Athena, Demeter, Persephone, and Hades.  I know you're out with the guys, so I did some research, and I really think you should do something involving pomegranate.  It was how Hades got Persephone to stay in the Underworld, and it's definitely one of Dr. Novak's favorite myths.  He kind of likened it to Beauty and the Beast, actually, and he seemed pretty wistful about it.  I think your best bet might be to make a Greek yogurt cheesecake with pomegranate syrup.  I'm willing to bet my entire Harry Potter series that you have enough to make the pie crust with, so go ahead and do that and put it in your fridge to chill overnight.  In the morning when you get to work, ask Benny if he minds if you make the cheesecake first because it needs to be chilled for at least six hours.  I'm sure you can read the rest; just do a Google search for it.  You'll find the recipe I looked at on a site called Bon Appetit.  Pull it up, look it over, do the crust, and then get back to your friends since I know you guys went back to your apartment so Adam could drink.  Good luck!"_

It took Dean a couple of tries to read through the text and completely understand it, and he was actually grateful that Charlie had gone to such an extent.  He likely would have gotten frustrated, and though making a Greek yogurt cheesecake with pomegranate syrup sounded a little like cheating, he couldn't make himself care too much.  He just hoped Castiel liked it.

 

* * *

 

The fateful text came on Thursday.  Dean knew it just by glancing at the length of it—and by the fact that it was in all caps.

_"DEAN, HE FLAT-OUT SAID THAT HE LIKES ANGELS.  WE TALKED ABOUT DEMONS AND ANGELS TODAY, AND HE TALKED ABOUT HOW MUCH HE LIKES ANGELS."_

He was at work when he read it, and _technically_ he shouldn't answer it, but he couldn't help himself.  He was actually excited about it; he could _finally_ write a note that wouldn't just be grasping at straws.  And he knew _exactly_ what he was going to make.   "So I guess that means I'm going to be spending my lunch break tomorrow making an angel cookie wearing a trenchcoat.  It might also happen to have dark hair and blue eyes."

Charlie's answer was almost immediate, and was—once again—in all caps.  _"ANGEL!CASTIEL!  YES, DEAN!  ALL THE YESES IN THE WORLD TO YOU!"_

Dean chuckled as he slipped his phone back in his pocket.  Angel!Castiel, huh?  Yeah, that had a nice ring to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- I didn't feel like bumping the rating up, and I wasn't sure of my abilities in writing it, so I glossed over a wet dream. I'm debating on making an attempt, but I don't think that sort of scene is likely to come up again until near the end.  
> \-- Agent Cassidy is not going to be tagged just yet for reasons. She's going to be mentioned again, and she _might_ make an actual appearance, but I'm not sure just yet. We'll see.  
>  \-- Short version of the "golden apple" thing: Aphrodite gave it to Peleus to give to the "fairest of all." Basically, Dean is trying to tell Cas he thinks he's the fairest. Idk; it sounded cute to me.  
> \-- This is not Becky's only appearance. I'm trying not to make her _too_ awful because I kind of adore her, but at the same time... it's Becky.  
>  \-- I think the Dionysus idea is easy to get, but instead of Dean going by physical attraction in that one, he's saying there's something else about Castiel that draws him in, aside from just his looks, so it kind of means more. Kind of.  
> \-- I needed Charlie to come up with one idea, so I chose that cheesecake one. It doesn't serve great significance, minus the fact that pomegranate seeds (I think) are used in the syrup.
> 
> And we are finally making headway! I'm rather pumped by the latter half of the chapter, if nothing else, so I hope you guys liked reading it as much as I liked writing it! (:
> 
> Next chapter is in Castiel's view, but unfortunately, it will probably be next Thursday or Friday before it's posted. I'm going to be on vacation, which doesn't bode well for computer access. Sorry, guys. Maybe I can get it finished by Friday. If so, I'll set it up to post on Sunday or Monday.
> 
> As per usual, thanks for reading, and any feedback is definitely appreciated! (;
> 
>  **07/24/14 edit:** I have a tentative idea of how many chapters this will have, hence why there's a number instead of a question mark! If it ends up looking like more or less than 25, I'll edit it to reflect that the moment I know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, it's a little bit before one am, but considering I was on vacation that was more stressful than relaxing (went to Orlando, Florida, to Sea World and Universal Studios/Islands of Adventure), you should just be glad I spent any time yesterday finishing writing. I'm still quite exhausted.
> 
> Anyway, the abuse of mythology continues in this chapter, and I added a slight twist for my own liking, so I hope you all like it. So far, everything seems to be going as planned for chapters (because this one ended where I hoped it would) so hopefully (if anything) it will only have less chapters rather than more.
> 
> There's a lot of new stuff mixed with a little bit of old stuff, but it's probably easier to just read it all (unless you don't want to, which is fine). The cookie parts are mostly the same, but that's about it for old things, I believe.
> 
>  **Warning:** There are images of desserts in this one at the very beginning; if that potentially bothers you, then scroll down quickly about a third of the way. The first section after the pictures are gone is Cas's lecture over angels and demons; if you've gotten to the cookie, scroll back up.
> 
> I think that's it for this one! As always, let me know if I need to put up a warning for anything else. Hope you have a happy read! (:

After that evening involving the pie, things altered a bit at Piegatory Café, but only on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Castiel didn't really notice anything too odd about it at first.  Well, aside from the fact that he hadn't ordered anything to go.

He walked up to the pickup station after getting his water to find his typical kind of order sitting there, with a to-go bag positioned directly behind it.  No other patrons were around, and there weren't any other orders on the counter; neither of the two employees behind the counter seemed to be preparing a second plate, either, which led him to believe that the plate was definitely from his order.  He took a few hesitant steps forward, reaching out to tug the plate across the counter and to him.  He left the bag alone, glancing past it to the two employees in an effort to make sure the order was his.  He was fairly certain they knew what he ate, so surely they would tell him if he were taking someone else's food.  There girl with the light brown hair and blonde highlights was watching him rather avidly from behind the counter, which was quite disconcerting.

With a slight nod to her, Castiel turned around and started walking away.

"Sir, wait!" a girl's voice called out behind him, and he turned his torso just slightly so he could look over his shoulder at her.  "The bag is for you, too.  Compliments of one of our chefs."

Castiel furrowed his brows.  Why would any of their chefs make him something to go?  Feeling a little wary he turned back around and walked back to the counter, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bag.  "Thank you," he murmured, and she simply grinned with an exuberant nod.  He made a quick retreat, heading to his usual table and setting down the items in his hands a little awkwardly.

After taking a seat, he pushed the to-go bag across the table, eyeing it like it might explode at any second while he blindly reached for the spoon to eat his soup with.  He still didn't quite understand why one of the chefs would just make him something for no reason.  He doubted that the café was covering the expenses of whatever the item was, which meant the chef making it was probably taking a dock in pay.  _But why would someone do that?_

It ended up bothering him so badly that he stopped mid-meal and set the spoon down so he could grab his phone from his pocket and pull up his text messages.  He quickly found Gabriel's name and typed, "One of the chefs made me something to-go.  Is it safe to open it?"

Knowing that his brother would likely be able to find out an answer, Castiel allowed himself to relax slightly, though he left his phone lying on the table in order to see it when it went off.  He resumed eating his soup and was almost finished with it when the answering text from Gabriel finally came.

_"This is totally unfair on so many levels, you know.  I have known those people for YEARS, and none of them did this for me.  Now this is your second time someone made something just for you.  Yeah, you're safe to open it, you little assbutt.  It's some sort of dessert."_

Castiel felt a fond smile quirk his lips, and he answered with a simple, "Thank you."  Now that he knew the bag wasn't exactly dangerous, he felt a little bit better, and he finished his soup without the worry knotting his stomach.

About half an hour later, he was at home and opening the bag, pulling the red and brown container out of it.  He fiddled with the lid slightly, glancing back into the bag to see if there was a note or something, and when he found nothing but some napkins, he took a deep breath and opened the container.  Another breath was gasped in sharply, and he felt his eyes widen at what he saw.

The dessert was so _pretty_.  It was bronze and brown, and the glaze on it sparkled.  He had absolutely no idea what it was, but that really didn't matter because it looked way too nice to even touch, let alone eat.  Actually, that was a lie; as the scent of sugar and cinnamon—and something else he couldn't quite identify—hit his nose, he decided that he could definitely eat the dessert with no regrets later.

But first he was going to take a picture of it and send it to Gabriel because the "assbutt" tendencies ran in the family, and if he didn't do it, then he wouldn't be much of a little brother.

 

* * *

 

On Friday Castiel was a little surprised to find another to-go bag waiting for him with his soup, but this time he didn't question it.  Instead he simply offered a smile to the girl behind the counter—he was pretty sure her nametag read "Becky"—before he walked away to his table.  Since he'd known the bag was his that time, he didn't have to juggle the items in his hands as badly, so it wasn't as difficult to set the items on the table.  Given that it was the same situation as Wednesday, he was inclined to believe there was no reason for him to ask Gabriel if the bag was safe again.  If anything he anticipated what he might find; the treat the other evening had been _amazing_ , and he could only hope the one he received today would be just as delectable.

For once Castiel actually rushed through his meal, eager to get home and open the bag, even though he knew he could technically open it while at the café.  It just felt odd to do that, though.  He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to keep the special desserts all to himself; it was a ridiculous notion (as well as a ridiculous feeling) but he really couldn't alter that mindset.  It felt almost like a private sort of thing, especially since Gabriel made such a huge deal out of it.  It made him feel _special_.

When he finally returned home and laid eyes on the dessert, his brows furrowed and his head tilted of its own volition as he peered at the treat curiously.  He literally had no clue what it was, but it was still kind of pretty (though definitely not as pretty as the apple from Wednesday).  He found himself once again unable to resist the urge to take a picture of it, so he could send it to his brother.  Maybe it was borderline antagonistic, but he had a feeling Gabriel wasn't as irritated by it as he pretended to be.

The thought made his stomach twist a little, his mouth forming a melancholic smile.  Gabriel had always been willing to play along and encourage Castiel to do things that he knew none of the rest of their family would approve of.  Gabriel's influence in his life was actually quite substantial if he thought about it, and he really did treasure those memories.  For all Gabriel's faults, he really was one of the most understanding people Castiel knew.

But none of that stopped the blue-eyed professor from pulling his phone from his pocket, snapping a picture of the dessert, and sending it to his older brother.

 

* * *

 

The following Wednesday's pastry was... unexpected.  Not so much in the sense that there was yet another bag waiting with his meal.  It was mainly the fact that he'd expected some other obscure dessert he'd never had before, so when he opened the container to find a slice of cheesecake with some red syrup, he might have been a little disappointed.  He did, as was becoming his usual routine, take out his phone and snap a picture before sending it to Gabriel, and it was only when he looked back at the slice of cheesecake that he noticed it.

The red syrup wasn't cherry or strawberry, as his mind had originally decided; it was made from pomegranate.

There were _pomegranate seeds_ on the cheesecake.  There was something significant that he was obviously missing, because his mind was too focused on the fact of pomegranate seeds for it to not be attempting to recall a situation or a memory.  Whatever the issue, however, he wasn't able to make the connection his brain was obviously trying so hard to make, and so he banished it to the back of his mind for now.

His phone buzzed, bringing him out of his slight daze, and he absently opened the text message while he pulled a fork from his silverware drawer.  He forked off the tip, his eyes glancing quickly over the text.  _"Li'l bro, I feel sorry for any partner you get because you're a damned tease."_

Castiel choked on an unexpected laugh, and he had to set his fork down.  It was a few minutes later before he could actually try to eat that first bite without the fear of choking on it.

 

* * *

 

The following afternoon placed Castiel in the front of his classroom without any powerpoint slides to accompany him.  He was leaned back against the table in his typical, relaxed pose with his palms flat against the tabletop and his fingers curled around the edge.  He'd finished taking attendance, and his students were watching him curiously.  "There is one thing about the usual structured introductory mythology courses that bothers me," he announced.  "And that is the complete lack of angels in it."  There was a collective murmur of laughter, and he put up one hand.  "I am being completely serious.  There are multiple stories about demons—or daemons as they are referred to in some cultures—but there are only four religions that really discuss angels:  Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.  Zoroastrianism heavily influenced the development of the others, so they are all closely related.  All four believe that the angels are meant to carry out God's will. 

"Zoroastrianism, Judaism, and Christianity believe there are three sections of the universe:  heaven, hell, and earth.  Angels are capable of going into heaven or spending time on earth doing God's bidding.  They're the ones who reward the good and punish the wicked, who aid people with understanding God's will, and who take souls to heaven.  For Christians they're also messengers of God, and they actively take part in people's lives.  They bring strength and comfort, and they deliver prayers to God.  Some are even assigned to certain people to protect them.  You all have probably heard some variation of the phrase 'angels are watching over us' from _someone_ you've encountered in your life, even if you don't believe in them.

"Islamic beliefs also include something called djinni, alongside the angels and the demons.  Djinni can be good or evil and were supposedly created out of fire.  They can take on multiple human or animal forms, and if they want, they can even be invisible.  In the other three religions, there are only angels and demons, and some people believe demons were once angels," Castiel explained, pausing momentarily to let everything sink in.

Corbett hesitantly raised his hand, and Castiel smiled, motioning for him to speak.  "Um, do you have a preference for the sort of forms angels can take?"

He found himself grinning at the question, and he nodded.  "Mr. Corbett just asked a fantastic question.  I'm not sure what all of you know about angels, but there has always been some slight debate over if they have physical forms like we do, if they have spiritual forms that we can't see, or if they can choose to be in either form whenever they wish.  There's a series of books by an author named Carver Edlund, and I quite enjoy his thought process behind it all.  According to Edlund angels possess human bodies, much like demons would possess them, except angels can only possess certain humans—he calls their physical forms 'vessels.'  In his novels angels have to be given express permission from their vessels to possess them, and then their vessels practically become indestructible except from certain weapons, and if their vessels take a bad enough injury—such as something life-threatening—then the angels will heal their vessels if they're in a position to do such.  If the _angels_ are killed while inside the vessels, however, then the vessels typically die.  Angels' true forms are unbearable to the human eye and are extremely large, and they have a substance called Grace that allows them to fly, heal, smite—things of that ilk."

This time when he paused Charlie's hand shot up, and Castiel chuckled slightly.  "Yes, Ms. Bradbury?"

"Doesn't he have a different angel hierarchy?" the redhead inquired, and Castiel was slightly surprised and impressed, though he probably shouldn't have been.

"You have read his work, then, I take it.  It is definitely something to be admired.  In regards to his angel hierarchy, I believe he wanted to make it a little more simplistic to begin with, but it's become more complicated the further you go into his novels.  He has it set up to where all the angels are soldiers, and there are three archangels, then the angels below them who are in charge of smaller groups in the archangels' factions, and then the regular angels.  Then he also has a few who aren't exactly soldiers and do odd jobs, and there are also some angels who do... basically system reboots on angels' minds, if an angel happens to stray too far from simple obedience.  It almost reminds me of some sort of Big Brother world.  It's all very intriguing and ends up being quite complex," Castiel explained, warming up to his lecture and speaking just a _tad_ too quickly.

Clearing his throat, he tried to steer the conversation back on track.  "In most mythology, there are nine groups of angels, divided up into three triads.  The first triad contains Seraphim, Cherubim, and Thrones.  They're the ones who communicate with God directly and are angels of love and knowledge.  The second triad contains Dominions, Virtues, and Powers.  They are the ones who receive the messages from the first triad to pass onto the third triad, and they oversee the angels in the third triad.  They're the ones who make miracles and guard the border between heaven's first and second levels, as well as guard souls.  The third triad contains Principalities, Archangels, and Angels.  They pass their knowledge on to humans, and they're in charge of earth.  They fight the Devil, never sleep, and are the ones from which guardian angels are chosen.  It almost seems like Carver Edlund uses simply the third triad in his novels, but his angels have jobs much like the other two triads, so he doesn't really utilize the full background.

"But I suppose that is enough about angels for now.  I need to at least briefly cover demons.  Since I'm already discussing Carver Edlund's versions, I will go ahead and profess that I like his portrayal of them, even if it may not be entirely accurate.  There is a great deal of fantasy involved in his novels, but plenty of the information is rooted in real mythology.  Demons don't need permission to take a vessel, nor do they have to be of a certain bloodline to contain a demon.  Any demon can take over a human.  However, they don't tend to heal their bodies, if they even really can, and the human inside them is typically well aware of what havoc is being done.  Unlike angels, humans cannot eject demons at will."

Castiel chanced a glance at the clock, trying to gauge how quickly he needed to go to finish his lecture in time because he really didn't have much more with how long he'd spent on angels.  "Demons are usually thought of as evil spirits—messengers or servants of the Devil.  They are basically considered monstrous creatures.  They weren't always perceived that way, though.  In fact, ancient Greeks believed they—as daimons—were people's spirits, guardian angels, or even souls.  In modern times, however, most cultures view demons as harbingers of death and sin.  Demons are abominations that should not be allowed to walk the earth.  There are demons in nearly every culture, and in none of them are demons _good_.  Some even believe that demons are human souls twisted into repulsive spirits after being sent to hell.  Really, I don't think they have much going for them, and in a fight between angels and demons, I'm almost positive angels would wipe the floor with the demons," he joked wryly, though he was being completely serious.  "Then again, I am biased because I really like angels and their mythology.  It's more than a little disappointing that they're left out of the curriculum so often."

A chorus of chuckles followed his statement, and Castiel found himself shrugging.  "I probably should have started with the demons and led up to the angels because that ending was a bit lackluster.  That's a note I'll make to myself for the future.  Go ahead and start thinking about your next paper topic.  I know there's still weeks to go before you turn it in, but it's not going to be as easy as the last one.  That's all I've got for you all today.  See you next Tuesday.  Have a good weekend," he bade them as he pushed off the table and walked around his podium to gather his supplies.

 

* * *

 

The pastry incidents changed on Friday evening when he got home and opened the paper bag his pastry had been put in.  His brows furrowed when he saw a blue piece of paper folded in half and taped to a plastic container.  Pulling it out of the bag, he gently pried the sheet of paper off the top of the box and unfolded it.  In the middle of the lower half words were scrawled.

_"Castiel,_

_I heard you like angels."_

They didn't make much sense until he pried open the container.

And then his jaw dropped slightly.

It was a cookie in the shape of a human, with wings protruding from the sides.  The face and body were cartoony, but the wings were actually rather detailed.  And the face and clothes on the angel were his.  It was his dark brown hair and blue eyes, his trenchcoat and white shirt with a blue tie, his black pants and shoes.  It was obvious that whoever had made it had worked hard on it, and he felt oddly pleased by it.  After taking a picture, he ventured to take a bite and almost moaned; just like everything else he'd been given, it was delicious.  It was soft and sweet, and the icing didn't taste disgusting like he'd thought it would, nor was it grainy in the least.  It was smooth and rich, and he could probably eat a cookie like that every day for the rest of his life and not care how bad it was for him.

He managed to send a text to Gabriel, simply the photo of the cookie, and it didn't take long for him to get a response.

_"Wow.  Someone must have made an impression.  They even made the wings black in honor of your teasing personality it seems."_

Castiel chuckled around a bite of cookie, replying, "It came with a note.  Apparently the chef heard I like angels."

The reply was almost immediate—and in the form of a phone call.  Castiel swiped his thumb across the screen and didn't even have to say anything before Gabriel spoke, "All right, so you do realize a student in your class is talking to someone at Piegatory Café about your lectures, right?"

Castiel's brows furrowed as he swallowed down the bite of cookie in his mouth.  "No.  What makes you think that?"  He set the cookie back in the container in order to keep from dropping it or breaking it and then swapped his phone to that hand.

"Come on, li'l bro!" Gabriel laughed.  "Are you kidding?  _You_ haven't noticed?  Someone all of a sudden hears that you like angels, and it doesn't strike you as odd that it happens the day _after_ your lecture about angels and demons?"

Castiel inhaled sharply, going rigid.  Gabriel was _right_.  The angel-shaped cookie of him had come the evening after his lecture on angels and demons, which to be honest was mostly about angels.  There was a student in his class talking to someone at the café.  And now that he was thinking about it, he had a pretty good idea of whom it was.  "Charlie Bradbury," he murmured aloud.

"Come again?" Gabriel's voice sounded mostly amused but had a tinge of confusion to it.  "Did you say Charlie?"

Castiel nodded before remembering his brother couldn't see it.  "Yes.  She's in my Tuesday and Thursday afternoon class.  She sits in the front row, and I know she works at the café, so the likelihood it's her is very high.  I hate to admit that this still doesn't tell me anything about the first three desserts, howe— _oh!_ " he suddenly gasped, his eyes going wide.

Gabriel was quick to ask, "What?  _What_?  C'mon, Cassie, you can't just leave me hangin' here!"

"The cheesecake," Castiel breathed, pushing his free hand through his hair.  "It had pomegranate seeds on the top of it.  My lecture on Tuesday included Hades and Persephone again, though I didn't go into detail too much since I'd discussed them already a couple weeks back—"

"Spark notes version, please; keep on track!" Gabriel interrupted.

Castiel swallowed and nodded, "Uh, right.  I mentioned it was one of my favorite stories.  Hades coaxed Persephone into eating pomegranate seeds so she didn't have a choice but to spend a certain amount of months with him each year."

Gabriel snorted, his voice coated in amusement.  "Sounds a little unromantic if you ask me.  But that would be the sort of story you like, Cassie.  Anyway, what are you gonna do about it, now that you know who's talking to your little mystery chef?"

Ridiculously, a blush heated Castiel's cheeks for no reason he could quite identify.  His voice was a little lower and a little more gruff when he retorted, "It's not _my_ 'little mystery chef,' Gabriel."  He heard his brother snicker, so he quickly added, "And I wasn’t going to do anything.  I didn't think I was supposed to."

"Oh, Castiel," Gabriel sighed heavily, "there is such a thing as too much teasing.  Of course you're supposed to do something!  Tell Charlie your thoughts on the cookie, so she can tell your little mystery chef.  Get some form of correspondence going, yeesh."

Castiel wasn't sure he _wanted_ to talk to the mystery chef, but at the same time, he was curious about the first two desserts and how they related to anything.  Charlie might know, but he wanted to hear it from the person making the desserts so he got the exact reasoning and interpretation, not Charlie's.  There would most definitely be a difference in them, and he wasn't ready to chance such a thing.  "I'll think about it," he finally answered hesitantly, his eyes shifting down to the angel cookie.  It really had been amazing, but there was one _slight_ detail he didn't quite understand.

Which was how, after lecture on the following Tuesday, he ended up approaching Charlie and offhandedly commenting, "I kind of imagined I'd have white wings, not black."  He grinned at her slightly shocked expression before he walked away, and he felt satisfied that she'd transfer his message when he heard her laughter a moment later.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday's pastry wasn't anything grand (green macarons with pistachio filling), and it didn't have a note, nor did it seem to be anything of significance, either.  Castiel wouldn't deny that he was a little disappointed, but then again, he hadn't really said anything during his lecture that could really be used to make a significant pastry, and the Egyptian mythology was a bit difficult to delve into.  He resolved to say something during the next evening's lecture, even if it wound up having to be a little out of place.

It ended up being worth it—when he opened the bag on Friday, his stomach twisting nervously, he found a blue piece of paper once more.  He grinned and quickly pulled the container out before pulling off the paper, his eyes finding the words scrawled on the lower half of it.

_"Castiel,_

_White is too cliché and makes me think of the little naked cherubs.  I imagined you as more of a soldier, and black wings just suited that better.  Though, to be fair, black wasn't the color I had in mind, either.  I was thinking more raven-colored, so they shone blue in the right lighting, but my imagination surpassed the options I had for icing color._

_Our mutual acquaintance also informed me you liked cats, but I'm more of a dog person, and I prefer Greek mythology to Egyptian.  I may have used Fluffy as an inspiration."_

Like the first time, Castiel was a little confused until he opened the container.  His eyes rounded, and he inhaled a sharp breath.

This cookie was larger than the first one, but for good reason because staring back at him was a brown, three-headed dog.  His breath expelled on a laugh, and it didn't take him long to take a picture before abandoning the cookie in an effort to find a sheet of paper and a pen.  This note deserved more than a short sentence in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- I put the pictures of the desserts so you all could see them, and because I figured out how to. (It was also easier than having to describe them too much.)  
> \-- Carver Edlund is quite possibly who you think it is. Yes, I still have that, and yes, he will meet him and possibly fanboy about it because why not.  
> \-- I chose to use macarons because I literally could not think of anything to replace them with, and I was using Egyptian mythology for that week. So, yeah, cop-out moment. I'm sorry.  
> \-- Hopefully, you all like Gabriel's characterization. It's not much right now given it's mostly through texts and phone calls, but he'll be a bigger part of this soon-ish.
> 
> Next chapter will be another one from Castiel's view, and we shall have the return of a couple characters already mentioned. I aim to have it out within this week, but it depends on some of the other (small) things I want to get out of my system. (;
> 
> (Also, if any of you happen to have any prompts for drabbles or actual fics you'd like to have written, feel free to drop them at my [tumblr](http://www.totallyjensensexual.tumblr.com). It actually helps me to write random things so I don't get burnt out on a certain verse.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and as always, any feedback is greatly appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, it's done!
> 
> First, I am so sorry that this came so late because this was never my intention. But I've been _so busy_ with school and recruitment for my sorority, and it's just been terribly difficult to sit down and write on this. Plus, I was also having a slight block with the notes Dean and Cas are sending each other since I want you guys to see them all, but I didn't want to have them just _in_ the story since Cas would just be reading Dean's, which would mean you'd be missing several of the things going on. So I hope the way I ended up doing it works out for you guys. It's also an easy way to notice the passage of time. (;
> 
> Second, I know I wrote on other things in the midst of this being updated, but that's because it seriously helps keep me from getting burnt out on something. So please don't be mad!
> 
> Third, if you don't remember, this chapter is still in Cas's view. We have Jo, Anna, and Gabriel make some appearances, but about a fourth of this is Dean and Cas's correspondence. ^_^
> 
> Lastly, there aren't any warnings that I can think of, so if there's something you feel I need to alter up here, please let me know!
> 
> And I think that's it! Dean's view in the next chapter -- it'll be Halloween, so there may be only four cute messages back and forth, unless I don't have enough in it, and then I'll just use my own discretion.
> 
> Hope you have a happy reading! (:
> 
> For **this chapter** : Cas's notes, _Dean's notes_

"A soldier?  I quite like that image, and I will admit I prefer the thought of raven-colored wings.  Those would definitely be envy-worthy.  It's a shame icing causes such restraints.  I would have liked to see them in their proper glory.  If you were to be an Angel, what color do you imagine your wings would be?

That is acceptable.  I can appreciate dogs, though I prefer the one-headed variety, no matter how cute Fluffy looked.  I am in full agreement with you about the mythology.  Greek is possibly my favorite in the entire curriculum (even if it does lack Angels).  Do you actually enjoy mythology, or are you simply utilizing it since your source is a student in my class?"

\---

_"Castiel,_

_I'm glad you like being compared to a soldier.  In my mind, your wings look awesome.  Maybe one day I can draw it for you._

_Ha, me as an Angel?  Most people would liken me to a demon, I think.  But to answer your question, perhaps dark red?  Like really, really dark red?  Those would be pretty awesome, I think, and I'm always being told I have some ginger in my hair (but "only in the right lighting")._

_There are some parts of mythology that I really like, I guess.  If you're wondering about your treats, however, they were originally being done based off your class's lectures.  And let me tell you, that required a lot of research I'd never do on a normal basis._

_And dude, you managed to make a remark about Les Miserables in your lecture without being conspicuous!  That is totally kickass!  Do you like musicals, or is that the only one?"_

\---

"That would be very exhilarating, to see a drawn version of me in soldier form.  I would definitely enjoy seeing that.

What makes them think such a thing?  Not many people would make treats for strangers.  I happen to believe you would make a fine Angel.  Hm; I do not know you well enough just yet, so I will save wing color judgment for a later date.

Is that so?  I am loathe to confess I did not quite understand the meaning behind some of the treats.  Would you be willing to explain what the correlation was?

Thank you for the compliment.  I was actually very pleased with myself for that accomplishment.  In regards to your question about musicals, I find them very enjoyable.  Do you like them?"

 

* * *

 

Castiel had just finished his food on Friday evening, when he caught sight of Charlie and a curly-haired blonde walking towards him.  The girl with Charlie looked vaguely familiar, but he wasn't sure why, and he didn't have time to concern himself over it.

"Good evening, Dr. Novak," Charlie greeted with a bright smile, glancing at her friend.  "This is Jo Harvelle, and she goes to the college.  She's thinking of taking your class next semester, and she's a first year, so I thought it'd be less intimidating to introduce her to you in this sort of environment."

Jo smiled and gave a wave.  "Hi."

Castiel tugged lightly at the cuffs of his trenchcoat but managed to smile politely.  "Hello, Miss Bradbury.  Miss Harvelle.  It's a pleasure to meet you, and it's nice to hear someone would like to take my class just from hearing about it.  If you think it'd help, you're welcome to sit in on one of my classes, unless you have any particular questions for me."

The blonde shared a glance with the redhead before looking back at him.  "Charlie said this is your first semester teaching this course?  Did you just graduate?  You look really young."

"No, I graduated a few years ago.  I taught high school English for a couple years before I managed to get a job as a professor," Castiel answered, feeling his smile twitch into a more realistic one.  "I'm not that young, actually.  I'm in my thirties."

Jo looked slightly shocked while Charlie ducked her head to hide a grin.  "Well, I wasn't expecting that.  Most people skirt the discussion of their ages."

This time Castiel chuckled, shrugging both his shoulders.  "I have nothing to hide.  I'm not ashamed of my age."

The two girls exchanged glances again before Charlie asked hesitantly, "Does that brazenness extend to other things?"

It took Castiel a moment to understand what the redhead was asking, and then his eyes narrowed slightly, his lips quirking into a crooked smile.  "Are you asking questions for the mystery chef?"

Jo's brows furrowed as she parroted, "'Mystery chef'?"

Her confusion seemed genuine, but Castiel tilted his head slightly, assessing her reaction as he answered, "Yes.  That's what I've been calling the person who has been making me treats and leaving notes with them."

Jo's laughter was sudden and unexpected.  "Oh, so _that's_ the communication in place?  Notes?  This is perfect ammunition," she murmured, shaking her head.  "And to answer your question, these questions are purely to satisfy our curiosity, though I would like it to be known we have not lied about my interest in your class."

Castiel quirked a brow.  "So if I answer your questions, you won't tell the chef?"

"Not if you don't want us to," Charlie answered easily.

"Yeah, it's not our job to do all the work," Jo added.

Castiel watched them for a moment longer before motioning to the chairs across from him.  "Have a seat, then.  I have time for some questions.  Just nothing too personal, please."

Both girls looked shocked for a short moment before grinning and quickly sliding into the seats.

"So," Charlie started off, less hesitantly than before, "do you prefer males or females?"

"As a rule, I'm more attracted to males, but there have been exceptions.  It's usually easier to identify as homosexual, even if it may not be entirely true," he answered with a shrug.

Jo hummed softly before asking, "And are you currently attached?"

"I am not.  My last relationship ended over a year ago," Castiel replied, fiddling with the cuffs of his trenchcoat again.

"Have you ever been married?" Jo queried, startling a short laugh out of him.

He shook his head.  "Not to my knowledge."

With one last shared look, Charlie inquired, "Do you have any questions you'd like to ask us?"

He immediately shook his head, replying, "No, I do not.  I would much prefer to find out information about the mystery chef directly from the source, but thank you for the offer."

Jo's grin was easy and warm.  "I like you, Dr. Novak."

Castiel bowed his head slightly.  "The sentiment is returned, Miss Harvelle."

 

* * *

 

_"Castiel,_

_Is it all right if I address you as "Cas"?  Or would that be too informal for someone you're writing the barest of notes to?_

_Duly noted.  I'll do my best to remember that.  Maybe I'll send it with your treat one of these days._

_Haha, well, not many people agree with that sentiment.  Then again, most of them have seen me at my worst, and I had a tendency to pick on them very often.  I'm not sure I could even say I would be deemed good enough as an Angel.  Perhaps I should just stay me, a human._

_Yeah, no problem.  The first treat was the baked stuffed apples, right?  They're really called Mila Psita sto Fourno, if you're curious.  They're a Greek treat, and they just made me think of the Golden Apple story.  The next one was Moustalevria, which is a grape must pudding, and it was supposed to be representative of Ampelos.  And then the cheesecake was a Greek yogurt cheesecake with pomegranate syrup and seeds on top of it, which was in relation to Hades and Persephone._

_I can appreciate musicals.  I enjoyed both Rent and Sweeney Todd, but I haven't seen very many.  Is Les Miserables your favorite one?_

_I must admit to being surprised by your taste in music.  I did not expect an AC/DC reference, and my informant barely caught onto it.  Classic rock is definitely the way to go, though, man."_

\---

"Even though I feel at a disadvantage for not having a name to call you, I do not mind if you call me "Cas."  I actually quite like that nickname, and no one has ever called me that before.

Humans _are_ quite intriguing, so that could work well for you.  I have a difficult time imagining you as a Demon, so human is probably best if you believe Angel doesn't fit you.

Thank you for the explanation; though it was brief, I understood all of the references being made, and I am flattered, albeit perhaps a bit concerned by the meanings.  If I didn't have three people vouching for you, the likelihood of our correspondence continuing would have been extremely low.

Both of those musicals are very well-done, so your tastes are at least decent.  I actually am very partial to _Rent_ , so it could be my favorite.  I enjoy way too many to be able to truly answer your question.

You do not have to keep referring to Miss Bradbury as your "informant" or anything along those lines.  I am well aware that she is the one helping us correspond like this.  I actually like a large amount of music genres.  There is not much I will not listen to.  Am I correct by inferring you particularly enjoy classic rock?"

\---

_"Cas,_

_Hey, man, if you wanna call me something, all you have to do is ask.  I never said this had to be entirely unbalanced._

_The way you said that makes it sound as though you're not human.  Did I find out your secret?  Are you actually an Angel?  Or maybe you're an alien?_

_Three?  I only know about Jo and Charlie.  There's a third person?  And I guess I should have explained them a bit better.  The meanings aren't really deep or creepy-worthy; promise.  I just think you're attractive, and you seem pretty cool.  The pomegranate thing was totally Charlie's idea because she knew you liked the story of Hades and Persephone.  I don't have any inclination of kidnapping you or anything.  I just wanted to talk to you._

_That's a fair enough answer.  And I'd say my tastes are better than "decent" since I like one of the musicals you're partial to.  I need some points somewhere._

_I know that, but it's a lot more fun to refer to her in different terms.  You sound like my little brother, except he listens to a lot of that pop crap a majority of the time.  Man, classic rock is the best, are you kidding?  Zep's "Ramble On" and "Traveling Riverside Blues" are my favorite songs._

_My obvious spy's detailed report included a Lord of the Rings reference.  Which of the trilogy would you say is your favorite one?"_

\---

"Is it really that easy?  What's a name that I can call you, then?

This is rather unfortunate; no one was meant to find out.  I'll have to report you to our leaders and see how they wish for me to proceed.

Yes, there are three.  However, if you do not know the third party, then I am going to keep it that way.  I need an inside man I can trust not to report anything to you.  Speaking of Miss Bradbury and Miss Harvelle, did they impart any of our conversation to you?  Thank you for the clarification.  That actually does make them sound better and less disturbing.

What, exactly, do you think you need points for?

Ah, my apologies then.  Please continue to refer to her as you wish.  Pop is not "crap" as you so eloquently put it.  It has just as much merit as your classic rock as a music choice.  I cannot say I particularly enjoy either of those, though I do like "Ramble On" a bit more.  I actually have recently found the theme song for _Greatest American Hero_ to be quite enjoyable.  I can't seem to get it out of my head.

My favorite out of the trilogy would have to be...  _The Two Towers_.  What about you?"

 

* * *

 

He wasn't expecting to find both a brunette and a redhead waiting for him in his living room when he got home.  He stopped short at the sight of them, blinking in surprise.

"Castiel, you're home!" Anna exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and quickly making her way over to him.  He barely had a chance to set his stuff down on the counter before she pulled him into a hug.  He had the mindset to return the hug, but he was a little hesitant about it.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel questioned, looking from the redhead with her hazel eyes to the brunette with whiskey-colored eyes and then back.

Anna frowned, her brows pulling forward and creating furrows.  "We had plans, remember?"

"Yes, I remember.  I mean, what are you doing _here_?  In my apartment?" Castiel repeated, elaborating a little.

Anna's face didn't shift out of its confusion, and she looked towards Gabriel, who took a few steps forward.  "I told her it was fine if we waited for you here."

Castiel had to close his eyes in order to repress the urge to throw something at the older male.

"I take it you weren't aware."  Anna spoke slowly, as if it were dawning on her just who had let her into the place.  "Castiel, I am so sorry!  I really thought he'd gotten permission!"

He shook his head, waving a hand as he opened his eyes.  "It's fine, Anna.  I'm used to it, so don't worry about it.  I knew it was a mistake to give him a key, and this really isn't the first time he's done it."

It took the sound of a bag being opened for Castiel to realize Gabriel was not standing in the living room anymore and was instead at the counter behind him.  "Gabriel, will you leave that _alone_?"

Gabriel sounded petulant when he retorted, "Do you realize how unfair it is that you get a treat every Wednesday and Friday?  I _still_ haven't gotten anything from them.  Am I not considered handsome enough or something?"

"Apparently not.  Now leave it _alone_ , for goodness sake," Castiel hissed.

Gabriel's lower lip jutted out in a pout as he crossed his arms.  "You're no fun, Cassie."

"Uh, what exactly are we talking about now?" Anna queried, and when Castiel chanced a glance at her, she had a single brow raised.

Gabriel interrupted before Castiel could explain.  "I'm glad you asked, Anna!  You see, my little bro here has a secret admirer at the local café.  Said admirer has been giving him a dessert with his meals twice a week."

"Oh, really?" Anna questioned, a grin curving her lips.  "Is that true, Castiel?"

Castiel felt his face heating up slightly, and he absent-mindedly reached up to pull at his hair.  It was one of his biggest tells, but he didn't really care since it would be obvious enough already.  "Kind of, but I don't have a secret admirer.  Just a tentative friend."

Gabriel's snort expressed his obvious disbelief, and the next thing Castiel knew, his older brother was asking, "' _Cas_ '?  Are you _kidding me_?  You're letting this person call you ' _Cas_ '?  You _hate_ nicknames, and you're letting a complete stranger call you by one!"

Anna was quicker to respond as she gasped and darted over to Gabriel's side, exclaiming, "What?  Let me see!"  When he showed her the blue sheet of paper, Castiel's mind kicked back into gear as Anna cooed, "Aww, that's so cute!  'Cas' is a perfect nickname for you!"

"Will you two _stop it_ and _put down_ the paper?" Castiel managed to ask between gritted teeth.  "This isn't funny!"

Anna almost instantly looked contrite while Gabriel's easy grin slowly dropped as he set the blue sheet down on the counter.  "I'm sorry, Castiel," the redhead murmured, her hands twisting together.  "I didn't think it would bother you this much."

The guilt that settled on his chest only made him feel more irritated, so he kept his mouth shut, his gaze shifting to Gabriel for a short moment.  His brother's head was cocked, like he was puzzled by something.

"You're being really defensive about that paper.  Or maybe it's more protective, whichever," Gabriel muttered, waving a hand to show it didn't matter to him either way.  "Is there something in it that you don't want us to see?"

Castiel gave an agitated shrug of his shoulder.  "I don't know what's in it.  I haven't read it yet."

He wasn't expecting both Anna and Gabriel's faces to shift into surprise and then fond amusement.  " _Oh_."

"Well, sounds to me like someone has a crush," Gabriel teased, his lips curling into a smirk.

Castiel felt heat sweep up his neck and into his face and ears far too quickly for him to even prepare himself for it.  "That is ridiculous, Gabriel.  We've barely exchanged that many notes."

"Oh, but Castiel, that is definitely your crushing blush," Anna pointed out helpfully.  "It doesn't take that long to crush on someone, and given the length of that particular note, I'd say you have enough to go on.  Plus, whoever it is has been making you sweets, which is just beneficial.  They must be getting some major points."

Castiel frowned slightly, focusing on the last thing she'd said.  "Wait, what do you mean?  The mystery chef brought up points, too."

Anna and Gabriel shared a look, grins easily forming on their faces.  "What did your mystery chef say about them?" Gabriel queried, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the countertop.

"We were discussing musicals, and I said he or she had decent taste.  He or she answered that since he or she liked one of the musicals I was partial to, then his or her taste should be considered more than simply decent and added that he or she 'needed points _somewhere_ ,' which didn't make sense to me," Castiel answered, using his fingers to make air quotes.

Anna's brows shot up, and her hand went to cover her mouth in an effort to stifle the giggles that Castiel heard anyway.  Gabriel didn't even attempt to hide his laughter, his head dipping down far enough that it almost touched the counter.  Castiel glared at them until Anna finally cleared her throat.

Her tone was thick with amusement as she sighed, "Oh, honey.  For starters, either choose a gender to call them, or speak the incorrect way and label them as a 'them' like I am.  It'll be a lot easier to follow since I assume you're not planning on asking what gender this person is.  Surely you at least have a guess.  But to address what caused us both to laugh so hard:  your chef is flirting with you.  Surely you've heard people refer to gaining points with their respective others' friends?  It's basically the same thing here, except this chef is hoping to metaphorically gain points to win you over."

Castiel still wasn't sure he entirely understood what Anna meant, but he wasn't going to make her explain it.  He understood the gist of it, assuming it was much like having a Pros and Cons list.  He was mostly confused by the thought of the mystery chef genuinely flirting with him, though he had to admit, the notes could be taken in that sort of manner, especially since the chef had admitted to thinking him attractive.  The more the thought had the chance to settle, the warmer Castiel felt, and when he realized he _liked_ the idea of the chef flirting with him, no matter what gender the chef was, he found himself blushing for no reason.

"Aww, that is so cute!  You _do_ like the mystery chef!" Anna cooed, grinning when Castiel pushed a hand through his dark brown locks.

Gabriel hummed softly, tapping his hands on the countertop and drawing Castiel's attention to him.  "I think I might know which one it is.  Do you _want_ to know if I find out?"

Castiel rolled his lower lip between his teeth, his right hand absently tugging at the cuff of his trenchcoat as his gaze skittered to the side in thought.  Anna and Gabriel let him think in peace, and a long moment later, he finally settled his gaze back on his elder brother.  "No.  If you tell me that you know, I'll want to ask you who it is, and since whoever it is apparently wants to keep it a secret, I'm going to respect that."

"Sounds fair," Gabriel answered with a nod.  "So, now that we've gotten all of that out of the way, unlike you, Anna and I have not had dinner yet.  You up for a trip to The Roadhouse for dinner?"

Anna's attempt at holding back a scoff was rather poor.  "Castiel's the one I'm here to see, and he's supposed to give me the tour, not you."

"He likes The Roadhouse!" Gabriel exclaimed defensively.

Castiel felt his lips twitch into a smile as he admitted, "It's true.  I do like the atmosphere at The Roadhouse, even when it is crowded.  I also know one of the waitresses there, now."

Gabriel's brows furrowed as he asked, "Who?"

"Jo, the one with—" Castiel started to explain.

Gabriel waved a hand at him to cut him off.  "Yeah, yeah, I know Jo.  Her mom Ellen owns the place, and I typically spend holidays with them and their surrogate family."

"Huh," Anna intoned, her eyes narrowed almost calculatingly.  "Well, I don't know about you, Gabriel, but I am absolutely starving.  Everyone ready to go?"

Castiel smiled and nodded, gesturing towards the door as he pocketed his apartment key.  He spared the blue sheet of paper a last glance, wishing he'd had the chance to at least _read_ it before Anna had showed up.

 

* * *

 

Castiel didn't get the chance to read the note until Sunday evening, after Anna had left.  By that point they had taken to calling the chef "Mystery Chef with the Blue Paper" or sometimes "MCBP" for short.  Gabriel didn't like the acronym, so he stuck to the full name, and they'd all agreed it was easier to just refer to the chef as "he" since it _was_ Castiel's preferred gender, and Gabriel had said there were more male chefs in the kitchen than female chefs, so the likelihood it was a male was far higher.

The weekend had been fun; he'd forgotten just how much he enjoyed spending time with Anna.  It had also highlighted upon the fact that Balthazar wasn't there, though he _was_ planning on coming up the next weekend to attend a Halloween party for the staff and friends at the college.  He'd grown up with plenty of siblings and cousins who were always around, so it was odd for him to be so alone.  He'd been able to ignore it because he was so busy with classes, but sitting in his living room on Sunday evening just made him feel lonely, and he hated that his time with Anna was over until Thanksgiving (which she'd attended since they became friends).  Somehow his family hadn't scared her off yet.

Therefore, it was in a rather melancholic mood that he unfolded the blue sheet of paper from his mystery chef and started reading, and by the time he was finished and had started writing a response, his mood had been lifted just a bit, and he was at least distracted from his loneliness for the time being.

But at the same time, it also made him long for something he hadn't actively wanted in years, and he found himself wondering, not for the first time, just what he was getting himself into with these barely personal notes.

 

* * *

 

_"Cas,_

_I'm not good with coming up with names like this.  Why don't you suggest a few, and I'll choose from them?  I mean, I guess you could always just address me as "Dee" or some variant if you don't want to come up with one._

_Huh; so you do have a rather decent sense of humor.  I haven't laughed like that in a while._

_All right; I guess that's only fair, no matter how much I hate not knowing.  And are you kidding?  Of course they haven't, and Jo's constantly holding that over my head, saying she knows things about you that you said I'd have to ask about.  I don't even know what they could have possibly started to ask.  Thanks for giving her more ammo, dude.  I doubt it'll ever stop._

_Is there any chance in hell that I could get lucky enough for you to forget I ever wrote something about needing points?_

_Whoa, man, no need to get on your soap box.  I didn't mean to offend you.  I was mostly teasing.  And that's cool, I guess.  It's not to everyone's taste.  Hey, that's a pretty awesome song.  I'm not even gonna bash you for liking that.  It's also pretty damn catchy, so I'm not surprised it's stuck in your head._

_At least you didn't say Fellowship of the Ring.  I would have judged you so hard.  The Two Towers is definitely close in the running, but I really like Return of the King.  There's a lot of fighting, everything's wrapped up, and it has a realistically bittersweet ending._

_So your favorite time of day is twilight, huh?  I honestly couldn't resist doing this for that piece of information.  I really hope you don't hate me for it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I have a few polls I'd like you guys to take, if you'd be oh-so-kind! It has to do with pairings for this story! (:
> 
> [Gabriel/Anna or Gabriel/Sam?](http://vote.pollcode.com/12786538)  
> [Balthazar/Naomi](http://vote.pollcode.com/57249185)  
> [Corbett/Ed](http://vote.pollcode.com/785279353)  
> [Bobby/Ellen](http://vote.pollcode.com/27182463)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading (and taking the polls, if you do)!
> 
> As always any feedback is extremely appreciated! <3
> 
> And you can find me at my [tumblr](http://www.totallyjensensexual.tumblr.com/) if you want to ask any questions or leave a prompt! (;


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